The Sweetest Mockery
by reader13lovesbooks
Summary: Ember Abernathy, daughter of two Victors, volunteers for the 74th Games to ensure her reaped brother survives. After her Gamemaker sister sabotages the arena and rebellion erupts, Ember and Cato lead 24 tributes in the wild, hoping to reach District 13 as the other Abernathys fight for their family. Foxface/Marvel, SenecaOC. Much canon character backstory, friendship&world-building
1. Chapter 1

**Shout-out to my best friend and beta ProudAthena13!**

One:

My father deals a bruising blow to my arm. I yelp and nurse the battle wound, pouting. "Dad, I wasn't ready!"

"Do you think the other tributes in the arena are going to wait for you to be ready?" Dad growls. "C'mon, Ember, what do I always tell you? What do I tell you all the time?"

"Always be ready," I mumble.

"Exactly. _That_ was, as you said, not ready. If this were the actual Games, you'd be short one arm and dying from blood loss, sweetheart." He taps his wooden sword against his thigh, contemplating if he should extend our sparring session. But he relents and dismisses me. "You're done for the day. Go clean up. Your mother should have brunch ready soon." Dad whirls around and pins his glare on my little brother, who is unsuccessfully trying to remain unnoticed behind his book. "Cedric! You're next."

"Dad," I hear Ced whining while I dart into the house, grateful for the reprieve. The smell of coffee and the sound of my baby sister's nattering drift from the kitchen as I dash upstairs. For Summer, this day is no different from any of the others she's experienced in her six years. We'd like to maintain that illusion as long as we can.

I disappear into the bathroom and lock the door before stripping off my sweat-drenched clothes. My saint of a mother, bless her, has already anticipated my needs and filled the tub with hot water and—am I dreaming?—bubbles. God, I can't remember the last time I had a bubble bath. It's a huge luxury, because bubble baths serve absolutely no functional purpose whatsoever, except to be fucking amazing.

Today might be the last time I ever have a bubble bath.

I slip into the tub with a fervent determination to enjoy my soak. But now that the thought of the finality of it all has entered my head, I'm too tense to really luxuriate. I scrub myself clean from our rushed training session that morning. Dad wanted to prepare Ced and me as much as he possibly could in the last moments before the Reaping, even though he knows we'll have more opportunities to practice at the training center in the Capitol. Personally, I think he was just using it as an excuse to squeeze in what bonding time he has left with us.

You know, if you consider whacking each other with fake weapons to be bonding time. Kind of is in our family.

I should have been reaped when I was twelve. I had expected it. Mom and Dad had expected it. The whole world had expected it. That was what always happened with the children of _a_ Victor, let alone _two,_ let alone two who emerged from the _same Games_. But a Seam girl had been chosen for the Seventieth Hunger Games instead. Now I'm sixteen, and my name has still yet to be selected by Effie Trinket.

My time, I am sure, has run out. Because Ced is twelve now. His name is only in the bowl once, one out of thousands—but how can the Capitol possibly resist the opportunity to pit two siblings, two Victors' children, against one another? This is what they have been waiting for, and if both of us aren't called today, then I have severely overestimated the Capitol's capacity for cruelty.

Whatever happens today, Cedric is coming home. One way or another.

I dunk my head underwater to soak my hair. As I sit there, submerged, I fleetingly wonder...what if I just stay here? Force myself to stay under. Make it so an Abernathy family tragedy won't have to play out in the Games—only in the privacy of our home. But...no. Although Summer is only six, there are only six years separating her and Ced. They would both be in the Reaping bowls at the same time, when she is twelve and he is eighteen. The Capitol will just have their fun then.

I will not force Summer to take my place. I will not force Cedric to have to sacrifice himself for Summer, years down the road. I sit back up, gasping for air. Just then, someone bangs on the door. "Ember, hurry up!" Cedric yells from the other side. "I want to shower before brunch!"

"Chill out, pipsqueak. I'm finishing up," I bark back as I stand and drain the tub. Then I pat myself dry as much as possible with my favorite fluffy towel before wrapping it around myself and throwing the door open. "All yours, doofus."

Cedric makes a face and slams the door shut. I grin to myself as I flit to my bedroom to change. Mom has laid out one of my good dresses, a soft lavender one that won't make me stand out too much from the other kids in Twelve, who will all be adorned in varying shades of gray and brown.

At least, that's the theory. In reality, I know the cameras will be pointed at me and my family more often than not, because we're _the Abernathys._ And everyone wants a piece of the Abernathys. It's a simple fact of life.

I put on the dress and run a brush through my tangled tresses. Hair looks presentable enough. I hurry downstairs, passing Dad on the stairwell as he clomps up to shower as well.

"You look nice, sweetheart," Dad mutters. He claps his hand on my shoulder, looks as if he's about to say more, but then changes his mind and continues his way up.

My mother has set out the spread on the table. I ask if she needs help, anyway. "No, thank you, Ember." Mom kisses my head. "You can start eating. No point in waiting for your brother and father—God knows they'll inhale everything in seconds."

I sit beside Summer, who has a napkin that's almost as big as she is tucked into her collar, undoubtedly to keep her pretty yellow dress stain-free. Summer garbles something around the heap of pancake she just shoveled into her mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Summer," Mom chides gently. "Chew, swallow, then speak."

Summer looks disgruntled. I side-eye Mom to make sure she's turned back to the stove before stuffing pancake into my own mouth and grinning grotesquely at my baby sister. Summer squeals in delight, but by the time Mom turns around, I've already gulped down and am demurely cutting my next piece. Mom looks suspicious but leaves us be, and I wink at Summer.

Dad and Cedric join us at last, and brunch is a deceptively merry affair. The usual teasing and mischief-making is tossed back and forth over the table, but everyone except Summer can see the tension in our family's shoulders and eyes. This is probably the last pleasant family meal we'll have.

After we finish eating and cleaning up, Dad and Ced tromp off to go over some survival books. Summer plays with her dolls on the floor while I sit still so Mom can fix my hair. She is thorough as she combs my inky black locks, then braids a few strands into a facsimile crown around my head. I can do ponytails and simple braids well enough, but I've always loved the feeling of my mother's fingers in my hair—the touch in the entire world that I know best, that I would recognize anywhere. I coldly comfort myself with the reminder that, unlike most tributes, at least my mother will be with me until the very end.

"There," Mom whispers. "You look lovely."

"Wait!" Summer toddles to her feet. "You're not done!" We watch her run to the kitchen counter, stretch, and swipe a bunch of slightly crushed white violets. Plucked not from my treasured garden, but from the wild. "Put these in Em's hair!"

I lean down to rub my nose with Summer's. "Thank you, Summer. They're lovely! You're so thoughtful."

In the hallway, the phone rings. I hear Dad pick it up and conversed muffledly with whoever's on the other end. Mom smiles as she tucks the flower stems into my braided coronet. Then she checks the time, and her face falls. "We need to go."

Our family walks to the town square, resembling a funeral procession. We're halfway there when Cedric tugs on my hand. "Is Ash showing up today?"

Oh, Ashton. The prodigal son, if there ever was one. And with good reason. Our eldest sibling and brother has lived in his own house in the Victors' Village ever since he won the Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games, when he was only twelve years old. And he is expressly forbidden from stepping foot into ours when he is or has recently been drunk or high.

My older brother, like so many Victors, did not escape his Games unscathed.

"He has to be there," I say wryly. "The Peacekeepers will probably dig him out of his sty of a house if he tries to hole himself in." Even if it weren't required for all Victors to be present at the Reapings, the Capitol still loves to see the entire Abernathy clan all at once. It's a rare treat, since Ash is usually doped up on something and unfit for public consumption, and Rain is—

I scowl and shake Lorraine Abernathy out of my head. Ash's twin sister isn't worthy of my thoughts.

"Ash?" Summer's high voice pipes in. "Who's that?"

Well, that just goes to show how frequently our brother has been clean in the last few years. Which is to say, not frequently at all.

"Your brother, sweetie," Mom murmurs.

"I thought Ced was my brother."

"Ash is your other brother. You have two."

"Oh." Summer wrinkles her nose. "Then why doesn't he live with us?"

"He has his own house. The one down the street."

"The scary house?"

I look back down at Cedric, who's downcast. He's old enough to remember a time when Ash wasn't perpetually trashed. And he misses that big brother, not the frightening, half-mad, drunken addict. I squeeze his hand in commiseration.

We reach the square, and I can see the cameras all swiveling to ogle us. The Mockingbird, the Jabberjay, and their nest of Mockingjays—most of it, at least. Panem's favorite family, even if the Capitolites do have to sometimes cover their eyes while a not-so-little Mockingjay pukes up vodka and absinthe.

Mom hugs Cedric and me, and Dad pats us both on the shoulder. Then we part ways: my parents for the stage, with Summer in tow, and Cedric and me to the pens that hold the sacrificial lambs. Cedric knows how it works, so I don't worry about him while we check in. A prick of the finger and a blood sacrifice are no big deal. It's what comes after that's the worst.

My cousin Madge is already in the holding cell for the sixteen-year-old girls, as is our friend Katniss. Madge's and my mom are twins, and Mrs. Everdeen might as well have been a third sister. I start toward them, but a Capitol reporter and her cameraman stop me first. "Hello, Ember! I'm Cornelia Applewhite, with the Capitol Report. How are you feeling today?"

Cedric and my parents are getting the same treatment. Mom will do most of the talking, while Dad will just look grumpy as usual, and Summer might get in a few cute remarks that'll make the Capitol go _aww._ Cedric, I'm sure, will use plenty of big words so the reporter will go away as soon as possible and he can get back to the book he has tucked inside his jacket. I decide to go for honesty, with a touch of drollness. "Hot."

Cornelia looks confused—she was expecting a "great," or "excited," or even a "fine"—but finally gets it. She titters, as if it's the funniest thing she's ever heard. "It is very humid today, isn't it? And, of course, I'm sure _you_ must always be rather warm, what with your name and all." Ugh. Like I've never heard that one before. "Now, how are you feeling about the Reaping, dear?"

I shrug. "The same as usual."

"And what's the usual?"

Angry, bitter, terrified, take your pick. But I can't say any of those things aloud. "I'm curious to see who the Tributes are for the inner Districts. Their volunteers never disappoint. Of course, you can't count out the outer-lying Districts, either. You get a few surprises here and there." I pause, then add lightly, "My parents, for example."

"Oh, yes, your parents! Well, I see Marcus is taking care of them, but, well, I'm wondering about your perspective. Just as we've watched you and your brothers and sisters grow up, we've seen Haymitch and Maysilee Abernathy change over the years. How different do you think they are now, from when they were in the Games?"

I raise my eyebrows. "I wouldn't know. I wasn't alive then."

Cornelia's ostrich feathers tremble as she giggles again. "Obviously, dear! But surely you've seen the recordings or heard about their Games."

The orange chicken really wasn't going to let this go, was she? I'll toss her a bone. "They're as clever as ever, that's for sure. Mom catches me every time I try to sneak an extra sweet, and Dad slips it right back to me under her nose."

Cornelia practically guffaws, catching the attention of everyone around. I try not to flush in embarrassment. Honestly, it wasn't that funny. I just want to fulfill her entertainment quota and escape. "Oh, you're wonderful! Just as charming as your parents were in their day. And still are. Well, your mother, at least. You look a great deal like her, you know. If it weren't for the hair, I'd say you were twins."

I force a smile. "Mom already has a twin. One's enough, I think. Now if you'll excuse me, Ms. Applewhite, I should get going." I extricate myself and hurry off before the orange chicken can reel me back in. Amusement radiates from Madge and Katniss as I finally join them. "Shut up."

"We didn't say anything," Madge protests, lip twitching.

"You don't need to," I harrumph. "By the way, apparently I've replaced your mom as my mom's twin."

Madge places her hands on her hips. "But _I'm_ your twin." Though cousins, Madge and I were born close enough to each other that we have joint birthday parties every year. And although not identical in appearance like our mothers, we still look similar enough—despite our hair colors—that we could be mistaken for sisters, if everyone didn't know everyone in Twelve.

And if I weren't part of a celebrity family.

I lean forward and tug on Madge's plait, an action I know she hates. "Unfortunately." I laugh as Madge bats my hand away, and I turn to Katniss. "How's Prim?"

Katniss frowns. "Nervous."

"She won't get picked. She hasn't gotten any tesserae, has she?"

"Of course not," Katniss growls. "I would never let her."

"Then she's fine." I sigh. "Besides, we all know who the tributes are going to be."

Madge takes my hand. "Maybe it won't be you. They haven't picked you all these years. Why start now?"

I look around and instantly spot Cedric, who is indeed hunched over his book. Madge and Katniss follow my gaze. "He only has one, too," Katniss says softly.

"It doesn't matter. He was marked the moment he was born. We all were." I'm a touch melodramatic, sure, but my whole life has been a big, fat soap opera. Almost literally, considering how often we're on TV. I look them in the eye. "Cedric isn't going to die."

They're silent. They know what I mean. If Cedric and I both go into the arena, only one of us can come back out. And I have already decided which of us it's going to be.

Then the "festivities" begin. I tune out the same old video to observe my family. Cedric is still immersed in his book. He knows what to expect from today, too. If he wants to bury himself in the haven of whatever he's reading for a few more moments, who am I to tear him away from that? Who is anyone to do so? Who is anyone to rip him away from his world of books and fantasy and knowledge and force him into harsh reality?

Mom sits primly onstage, looking every inch the perfect lady, even with Summer squirming on her lap. Her eyes are on the video, but not her mind, I can tell. I know Mom is still holding on to a fool's hope that there is a way for us to be spared, that we won't be reaped at all. Dad, on the other hand, never had such dreams and has been preparing for our deaths since before we were born. I'm sure that whatever Games strategy he has for Cedric and me now is the same plan he had come up with for Ash and Rain, back when he had feared that his twin children would be reaped together, back before Rain had betrayed us all.

I feel a sudden burst of anger, not at Rain (I'm always angry at Rain) but at my parents. Why have kids at all if they knew their children would die before their time? Why let us be born in the first place, so that we would die the death they should have died? But that anger is soon swept away by self-loathing for thinking such thoughts in the first place. _They love me. That is why I'm here today._ And the love of my parents is something to be cherished, not resented.

Then I spot Effie Trinket coming back to the microphone, and I freeze in fear. Already? So soon? I thought I had more time! "Now," the escort trills, "who shall go first this year?" She turns to my parents. It's Effie's usual ploy to try to engage the Victorious couple in the Reaping. "Maysilee, Haymitch, which one of you would like to call it today?"

Usually, Dad sits back and lets Mom deal with Effie, but today, he speaks up before Mom can. "Boys."

Effie looks surprised for a moment, having expected Mom to respond, before quickly beaming. "Thank you, Haymitch. There we have it, gentlemen first. And may the odds be ever in your favor." She trots over to one of the giant glass Reaping bowls and sticks a pale hand inside.

I am willing to bet that every single slip of paper inside says "Cedric Abernathy."

Effie selects one and slowly opens it up. "_Cedric Abernathy!_"

My baby brother slowly looks up from the book he has his nose in. The cameras are already trained on him; they have been the entire time. He straightens up, but he still looks painfully tiny as he shuffles into the aisle and walks to his doom. I have prepared myself for this moment, but I still have to bite my fist to stop myself from screaming. On the stage, Mom and Dad look stony, determined not to break down when the entire world is watching them.

Cedric is small for his age, and he looks even shorter next to Effie in her towering heels. "Cedric, it's so wonderful to see you again! You must be so excited, to be chosen for the Games in your first year!" Cedric stares blankly back at her. "Well, I'm sure you're looking forward to following in your mother and father's footsteps. And how are the proud parents?" Effie glances back at Haymitch and Maysilee but just as quickly looks back to the front, upon spying the glowers on their faces. "Now, onto the girls, shall we?"

I brace myself as the perfectly manicured hand digs into the other bowl. Well, this is it. I begin moving toward the aisle before Effie even reads the name.

"_Primrose Everdeen!_"

The world stops. I stop. Murmurs start. My mind races. It's not me. _It's not me._

It's Prim.

How did this happen? It was supposed to be me. I spin around and spy a small blond head bobbing slowly through the crowd, then back around to Katniss, who looks horrified. Our eyes meet. Katniss is going to volunteer. I know it.

Part of me wants to let her. It's Katniss's sister. Let Katniss go into the arena. Let Katniss go so I won't have to sacrifice myself for Ced. But the greater part of me knows I can't. I can't expect Katniss to look after Cedric for me. I know she will, because we're friends, and she likes Ced. But that's my job. Just as Prim is Katniss's sister, Cedric is my brother. I can't volunteer for him, but I can still protect him.

Besides, with her hunting and survival skills, Katniss might be better prepared than almost anyone in Twelve for the Games, but I was born for them.

"I volunteer as tribute!" My voice rings clearly throughout the square. And then my face fills every screen. I see Peacekeepers hustling Prim back to the other twelve-year-olds, and others coming to escort me to the stage instead. Please. Total overkill. I stride forward, brushing them off as I pass by. I can't bring herself to look at my parents as I climb the steps and join Cedric, who looks just as bewildered as I feel.

"Our first ever volunteer!" Effie gasps. "Well, Ember Abernathy, you couldn't just let your brother have all the glory, could you?"

I entwine my fingers with Cedric's. "I couldn't let him go alone."

"Oh, no, of course not. But how are you two going to work this out? There's only one winner." I see a flash of sorrow in her face.

"Easy," I reply. "Cedric will come home." _And I will not_ was the unspoken afterthought that everyone in Panem heard.

Effie is flustered. "I see," she says, and I wonder if she really does. "Well, here they are! The tributes of District 12 for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games: Cedric and Ember Abernathy!" She claps.

No one else does.

I find Madge and Katniss in the crowd. My twin looks stricken. Katniss gazes back at me, and I think I see my friend mouth "thank you." Then she raises her left hand, kisses her middle three fingers, and holds them up to me. To me and Cedric. Madge does the same. Then in another part of the crowd, Prim. Then Gale Hawthorne, and the Mellark boys, and Delly Cartwright, and Ripper, and Greasy Sae, and everyone in District 12.

I turn around. Mom and Dad are standing and saluting farewell, too. Mom's eyes are watering, and Dad's are cold as ice, until they meet mine. Then they soften, and I know that my parents both understand.

What I don't know is why Dad's eyes are burning with something that I'm tempted to call zeal, or excitement, but I know that can't be it.

Peacekeepers rush us off the stage and into the Justice Building. I know the procedure, but it doesn't hurt any less when Ced and I are separated. I sit on the couch in my room, waiting, wondering who will visit me. Mom and Dad won't, obviously, since they'll be coming with me and Ced to the Capitol. I've already said my goodbyes to most people, so—

The door opens. Madge enters. I fly to my feet, and we embrace. "I told you they weren't going to pick you," Madge says, laughing bitterly.

"So you did. You're always right, Magpie."

Madge wrinkles her nose. "Ugh, don't call me that. Firefly."

I snort. "At least Magpie actually makes sense. I can't remember where you even got Firefly from."

"Embers burn, fires burn, ergo firefly," Madge says simply.

"So you're saying I burn fireflies?"

Madge shoves me lightly. "Shush. Pretend it's logical." Then she sighs and looks at me with the same blue eyes that I see in the mirror every day. "I'm going to miss you."

I smile sadly. "What, no pep talk telling me that I have what it takes to come home?"

"Oh, you do. Of course you do. But I know that you're going to take that 'what it takes' and use it for Cedric." A tear runs down Madge's cheek. "I wouldn't expect any less from you."

I press my palm against hers. "You'll take care of my garden for me, won't you? You know no one in my family can touch plants without killing them."

"Of course." Madge nods.

"And," I add nonchalantly, "I'm sure if you ask politely, Gale Hawthorne will be glad to help you out once in a while."

Madge shoves me again, less lightly. "Shut up! I never should have told you about him." A sharp knock raps on the door. "I'd better go. You have a line."

"I do?"

"You're popular." Madge smiles faintly. "I guess this is goodbye."

"Yeah. I guess it is." I watch Madge go. "Hey, Madge?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry for kissing Gale when we were fourteen."

She groans. "Ugh. You're still not forgiven."

"I love you, Magpie!"

Madge turns at the door, blinking furiously. "I love you, too, Firefly." Then she's gone.

I have no time to mourn, though, because Katniss and Prim come in immediately. Prim wraps her arms around my waist. "Thank you," she sobs. "Thank you. I wish you didn't have to volunteer, but…"

"Hey, better me than you," I say, pseudo-lightheartedly. "Besides, someone's got to watch over Ced."

Prim sniffs and steps back. "I wish I had a present for you or something."

"Just seeing you is more than good enough."

Katniss pats Prim's arm. "Prim, do you mind heading out first? I need to talk to Em alone." Prim nods and retreats. When the door shuts, Katniss speaks again. "I want to thank you, too."

"There's no need," I respond. "It was always supposed to have been me. Prim should never have been called."

"Why didn't you let me volunteer?"

I shrug heavily. "It wasn't your job. It was mine."

Thankfully, Katniss needs no further explanation than that. "Make sure Ced comes home, then. Make sure he wins, so that this isn't all in vain."

"That's my only goal from this point forward."

Katniss nods, hesitates, then comes in for a hug. I return it, and then my friend is gone, too.

Various friends from school come in and out, bringing and taking their tears with them. I'm starting to wonder if I should be crying by the time Delly Cartwright drags herself out. I've been dry-eyed the entire time. What should I be crying over? The guaranteed loss of my life? I've long since accepted it, and I'll be losing it for the sake of Cedric. That's more than a worthy cause.

When I finally rejoin him on the way to the train station, I take his hand—I've held so many hands today—and don't let go, not in the car, not when we pass the hordes of cameramen on the platform. Not until we're face to face with our parents once more.

And Ash.

I've been so distracted, I can't even remember if my older brother was present at the Reaping. People are exempt from attending if they're at death's door, and Ash certainly looks as if he's half-dead. Smells like it, too. His bloodshot eyes are dilated as they fall upon Cedric and me. "EmnCed!" he slurs. "Well, congrats, you're the chosen ones. Howzz't feel to be fucked?"

"Ashton!" Mom hisses, clamping her hands over Summer's ears. "Your sister is in the room!"

"Oooh, so she is." Ash squats so they're eye-level. Summer shrinks back. "Wumph. You got big, Summy." She hides her face against Mom's leg. "Wut, don' remember me? 'm your big brother...Ashton Abernathyyyy!" He gesticulates wildly. "Youngest evah winner of th' Hunnnngah Games!"

Dad grabs him by the collar and throws him in the direction of the door. "Get out of here." He turns to one of the Capitol attendants. "Make sure he gets to his room and stays there until he sobers up."

"Whoawhoawhoa, there, old man." Ash stumbles back toward Dad. "Youuu can't tell me whadda do. 'sides, 'm supposed to mentor. Gots to be here."

"You're not mentoring," Dad snaps. "Your mother and I are."

"But you mentored las' year. And th' year before. And before. And every year. S'not fair. Whenzzit gonna be my turn?"

"When you're clean."

Ash chortles. "Well, I guess tha's never, then." He starts to go, but pauses. Slowly, he turns back around to stare at Cedric and me again. "They're gonna kill you. They're all gonna go after you two first. Always happens." He focuses on me. "You shouldn'a volunteered. Could've saved yourself. Could've lived. Now you're dead. You're fucking dead, and they'll kill Ced soon as they're done fucking your corpse—"

"OUT!" Dad bellows, and this time he drags Ash out the door.

"YOU'RE DEAD! YOU'RE ALL DEAD! YOU'RE DEAD, YOU'RE DEAD, YOU'RE DEAD—" The door shuts.

I shudder. Those of us remaining in the train car are silent, even Summer, who seems traumatized by the encounter. Just as we've all just about recomposed ourselves, the door opens again, and we jump.

"Well!" Effie says happily. "Did I miss anything?"


	2. Chapter 2

Two:

It turns out Dad threw Ash off the train. Literally. Mom was _not_ happy when she found out, but Dad insists the train wasn't moving that fast yet, and Ash has a thick skull, so what's the problem?

Mom still hasn't spoken to him.

I, for one, am feeling sour over what Ashton spat at me before Dad dragged him out, so I'm quite vindictively gleeful at the moment.

_They'll kill Ced as soon as they're done fucking your corpse._

I quell the rising sensation of nausea, begging my mind to not conjure up images of the hypothetical situation into which I'm sure Ash would have generously gone into further detail, if Dad hadn't hauled him away. He was exaggerating. That wouldn't happen. The hovercrafts would take my body before other tributes could do anything else to it.

A disturbing thought creeps into my head. What if tcriedhey do "anything else" before I'm dead? It's not as if anything is censored in the Hunger Games—except when tributes have to use the bathroom, because _nobody_ wants to see that, not even the Capitolites in all their depravity. It's not as glamourous as killing or fucking. Fornicating tributes isn't a common occurrence, but it's happened before. Consensually and nonconsensually. Out of horniness, loneliness, force, desperation, anger. When it's nonconsensual, the Districts respond as they do to everything Hunger Games-related: with disgust and outrage. Even the Capitol is uncomfortable with it.

It's one thing to murder children and an entirely other thing to rape them.

I take a deep breath and shove my stream of thoughts away. It won't happen. Not to me. I won't let it. I'd rather die before I let Cedric, my parents, my friends, the world see it.

When I finally rejoin everyone on Earth, Effie is trying to get a talk about strategy going. "This is going to be a great year! Maysilee, Haymitch, you know everything about your tributes. You'll know precisely what to do to bring home a win for Twelve."

"I'd rather bring home my children, thank you," Mom replies icily.

Effie titters nervously and moves on. "Well, let me see, let me see… There shouldn't be any trouble getting sponsors. The world already knows and loves your children. You'll have the entire Capitol eating out of your hand. Of course, that's not to say presentation isn't important, because it certainly is. Ooh! We might be able to do something like the Careers, now that—"

"No," Dad snarls. "My children are not Careers."

"But they've been training, haven't they? They can—"

Dad slams his fist on the table. "They. Are. Not. Careers."

There's silence, then Effie stands. "I think...I shall leave you all to discuss amongst yourselves for a moment." She totters away.

Mom rubs her temples, like Aunt Margaret does when she's about to get one of her migraines. Thankfully, Mom doesn't share her twin's debilitating condition. "That could have gone a bit better, Haymitch."

"She's gone. I don't see how it can get much better than that." Mom shakes her head as Dad twists to stare at Cedric and me. "So this is the part where we usually ask the tributes what strengths they have, but like that flamingo said, we already know all your strengths _and_ weaknesses." Dad props his chin on his hands and looks thoughtful.

Dad was right earlier, when he told Effie we weren't Careers. We may have been training our entire lives for the Hunger Games, but not because we wanted to participate. It's because we knew we would have to. That's the difference between us and the bloodthirsty bastards in One, Two, and Four.

Neither Mom nor Dad is the best fighter. They won their Games based on cunning, resourcefulness, and each other. Neither of them ever had real combat training until the scant few days right before the Games. But over the years, when they started having children, they acquired enough skills to be proficient in a few types of weapons or styles of fighting, so they could pass them on to us.

_Always be ready_ is Dad's number one lesson. Number two is _the only weapon you can rely on is yourself._ No matter the arena, no matter the year, no matter the Gamemaker, the one thing you can count on to be in the Games is your own body. Even unarmed, you can get one over another tribute as long as you know what you're doing. Of course, success depends on what that other tribute is capable of, as well as yourself. I could probably take on a fourteen-year-old from Six with a knife, but a Career, with or without a weapon, is another question entirely. Cedric and I also know our way around weapons that consistently show up in arenas—swords, spears, daggers, and the like. But neither of us is crazy, arrogant, or stupid enough to think we'd stand any chance in a bloodbath. We're most likely going to have to depend on our survival skills, of which we certainly have plenty. Especially Ced, with his encyclopedic knowledge of everything. And his surprising talent at archery.

As if he read my mind, Dad finally speaks. "Your priority is not to kill. It is to survive." Ced and I nod. "Only fight with the other tributes when you must."

"Speaking of other tributes," Mom chips in, adjusting a squirming Summer on her lap, "we need to figure out how you'll interact with them. Your top priority is each other, but that doesn't mean you can't play nice with anyone else."

"Are you suggesting an alliance?" I probe.

Mom and Dad do that thing where they communicate solely with their eyes. It's weird. "You already have an alliance between the two of you," Mom responds. "You have enough fighting and survival skills between you two that you don't _need_ anyone else. But it can't hurt to at least act like a decent human being. There's no need to unnecessarily draw anyone's wrath upon you."

"And who knows what might happen in the arena?" Dad adds. "Be flexible, and if any tributes catch your eye, let us know. We'll talk more."

"Now, Effie had it right regarding sponsors," Mom continues. "We'll have no problem acquiring any, but we still want to keep those we already have and reel in as many more as possible. We can discuss private sessions and interviews in more depth later on, but for now, keep in mind that we want to keep up the image of devoted siblings who know what they're doing and will do whatever is necessary to ensure one of them goes home."

Done and done. "Is this the same image we want to project to the other tributes?" I ask.

"They'll all know your motivations when they watch the Reapings, so there's no point in trying anything else," Dad points out. "But make sure they, particularly the Tributes, get the impression that you're not a huge threat. We don't want them coming after you early on." He leans forward. "This is _very_ important. Avoid trouble as long as you possibly can in the arena." There's that queer light in Dad's eyes again, that almost-zeal I saw during the Reaping. Before I can ask him what's gotten him so wired up, Effie returns.

"Time for the recap of the Reapings!"

We reconvene at the couch in front of the big television screen. Summer has claimed Dad's lap, so I rest my head on Mom's shoulder while Ced squeezes between our parents. As always, the Reapings start with District 1. They must have an unfair proportion of pretty people there, because they always have at least one gorgeous tribute. The girl, Glimmer—and I thought "Ember" was bad enough—could give her mentor Cashmere a run for her money. And since she volunteered, I'm assuming she has the skills to back that arrogance up. Then again, you never know with the Ones and Twos. The boy isn't bad to look at, either, and one look at his tall frame tells me he's one to watch out for.

Two makes us all tense up. The girl, though petite, is daunting enough, what with the cold lack of feeling in her eyes.

The boy is terrifying.

District 2's crowd is actually cheering his name as he surges toward the stage. _Cato! Cato!_ they're chanting, as if he's already won. He's over six feet of solid muscle and chiseled lines. The girl in me appreciates these features, and his face. The tribute that I am is trembling.

Mom takes my hand and interlocks our fingers as we watch Cato pump his fist in the air, and the crowd screams. "And we have our odds-on favorite," Dad mutters.

Four's pickings are surprisingly weak this year. The boy looks like he's Cedric's size and age, and the girl, though older, seems anxious as she walks forward. Both were reaped. What's going on? Does Four not have any Careers this year? The rest of the Reapings pass by in a blur, until we get to ours.

Ced blushes, as is his wont, when he realizes the cameras captured him reading when his name was called. But none of us scold him for it. Then, when Prim is summoned, after what felt like an eternity then but was really only a few seconds, I step up. I've always hated watching myself on TV, and this is no exception. At least I didn't make a fool of myself, or cry or puke.

We have dinner after that, and then there's no more talk of strategy, or even the Games. I think Mom and Dad are trying to make this the last "normal" evening for us. It doesn't work for anyone except Summer, to whom none of us has quite explained the true meaning of the Hunger Games, but I appreciate the effort. Ced and I play along when our parents choose some board games. After all, we'll have plenty of time to freak out at the Capitol.

The next day, we arrive, but I'm not particularly excited or astounded. The Capitol is no new setting for any of us Abernathys. We all journey here every year for the Games: Mom and Dad because they're mentors, and my siblings and me because we're the adorable children, and Ash because we might as well drag him along. Also, Ash needs to replenish his supply of Capitol-produced narcotics.

When I was little, I thought the annual trip was a vacation. My siblings and I were free to roam District 12's living area in whatever Tribute building they'd constructed that year and ogle the colorful city from the windows, while Mom and Dad did their dirty work. In the evenings, we would be dressed up and go with our parents do the Opening Ceremonies, the Interviews, and other public events. It wasn't until I was six, when Ash was reaped and Rain abandoned us, that I realized Mom and Dad only took us because they had to. The Capitol wanted to see the Abernathys' nest of Mockingjays, and what the Capitol wants, the Capitol gets.

I was disillusioned long ago by my erstwhile wonderland. Now I dread more than ever the city and its inhabitants. All but one.

Cinna nods as I finish dressing in a plain black leotard. The fabric is high quality and well-made, but I fail to see what is so spectacular about it. Cinna is better than this. "Trust me, you'll stun everyone," he assures me. "However, I do trust that the girl named after fire isn't afraid of her namesake?"

I wonder if I should be worried. "I don't know, are you afraid of cinnamon?"

He chuckles. "I'm not named after cinnamon."

"I know. I'm not named after fire, either." I pluck an already peeled orange from the bowl on the table and pop a slice into my mouth. Alright, so perhaps the Capitol has one more redeeming quality besides Cinna, and that's fresh citrus. "So if I'm fire, then what's Cedric? And he's not named after cedar," I add.

"No, trees are Seven's territory. He'll get the same treatment you're getting."

I eye Cinna suspiciously. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? You're not actually secretly setting us up for sexy coal miners? Because my parents were stuck with that, and they looked awful."

"That's not what I have in mind, but it can be arranged if you wish."

I snicker. "I'll pass, thanks."

Cinna clasps his hands behind his back. "Joking aside, Ember, how are you really?"

I quiet. "I don't know." Even if I did, I wouldn't say, because I know there are microphones all over the room.

He knows, too. He changes the subject. "Now, moving on. I don't want to give too much away about your Interview outfit, but I just want to make sure—your cousin, Madge, she calls you...Firefly?"

"Yes. Why?"

Cinna smiles blithely. "You'll have to wait and see."

I groan, then pout. "You can't tease me like this, Cinna. I'm dying to know what you're plotting!"

"You'll know Part One soon enough." He checks his watch. "Very soon. We should get going."

I watch the Opening Ceremonies every year, in person, but I've never been up close to a real horse before. Twelve's horses seem gentle enough, and I even pet one of them on the nose. "Aren't they beautiful, Ced?" When my brother doesn't answer, I twist around to look at him. "Ced!"

He jumps, almost dropping his book. "What? What's going on?"

"Now, Ced? Really?"

"I was in the middle of a chapter," he says defensively. "I couldn't just put it down."

I can't help but grin as I chuck him under the chin. "Just make sure you don't read during the actual Ceremony, okay?"

"Fine," he grumbles.

District 1's chariot lurches forward. Cinna and Portia hurry over. "Are you ready?" Cinna asks, raising what looks an awful lot like a torch.

"Maybe," I say slowly. Even Cedric looks up from his book, partly curious, partly alarmed.

"Good. Hop on." They stop onto the chariot. Cinna and Portia lean forward.

"Oh my God!" I yelp, and everyone in the vicinity gapes. We're on fire, but we can't _really_ be because we're not burning to death. I would know if I was. So would everyone else, once I began screaming in agony. "Cinna, what is this?"

"Your outfit," he says, just a bit smugly. "Do you like it?"

I tentatively touch one of the flames. It feels like air. Like nothing. Maybe a little tickle. But it looks so real. I feel like a goddess.

No, scratch that. I _am_ a goddess.

"Yes," I breathe.

"Hold on to each other," Cinna advises, and Cedric grabs my hand just as our chariot surges forward.

I am expecting cheers, because the Capitol already knows and loves us. I am not expecting the stunned silence (as promised by Cinna) and the ensuing cacophony of screams of shock, delight, confusion, and admiration. The sound pounds my eardrums, and my heart hammers as flowers rain down upon us. A great deal of them are white violets, and I wonder if people noticed the ones that had been in my hair earlier that day. I catch all of the violets, smiling beatifically, just as I've practiced every day of my life. Cedric is doing okay, beaming bashfully at the cameras, though I can tell he's uncomfortable. We're still holding hands, and Cedric, noticing this, smiles at me before raising them.

I feel high off the atmosphere by the time we stop in front of President Snow's mansion. If this is what Ash experiences every time he smokes, snorts, or injects something, I can _almost_ understand why he does it. I nearly forget why I'm here in the first place, until I catch sight of the president.

"Snow" is a taboo word in the Abernathy household, unless one is speaking about the precipitation kind. I know our house is bugged, and it seriously creeps me out, but I've managed to live with it my entire life. Everyone in our family twelve and older knows that nothing kind can be said about Snow, so it's best not to speak of him at all.

That is, until we go beyond the fence to train in the woods. Then it's free game.

Snow cares nothing for the feelings of my family, only for what we can offer to him and the Capitol. Entertainment, mostly, in the form of feature stories and TV clips about our everyday lives. And I know that at one point, he wanted my parents, in their younger days, to be a part of his Victors' prostitution ring, despite their being "star-crossed lovers," but then changed his mind and told them to become baby-making machines instead. As whores, Haymitch and Maysilee would have pleased a few people. As parents, they pleased and please the entire Capitol.

As much as Snow loves his blood money, he knows the importance of keeping the Capitolites content.

I'm startled when the chariot moves again. The Ceremonies are over, or they're about to be. We tributes return to the stables, where our mentors are waiting. Mom is scolding Cinna good-naturedly. "If I really thought you were endangering my children…"

"I wouldn't dare to even think of it," he replies.

Our cloaks of fire are extinguished, and I go to join Dad, who's talking with Chaff. The one-handed man spots me coming and grins broadly. "Ember Abernathy! Look at you. Haymitch, where've you been hiding her?"

"District 12," Dad deadpans.

"Hello, Chaff." I extend my hand to shake. Chaff reaches for it and pulls me in, giving me a bear hug.

"I remember when you could still fit in the palm of my only hand."

I roll my eyes, corner of my mouth quirking upward. "You're exaggerating."

"Yeah, you're right. You were half that size." Chaff slaps his leg. "Oh, I've missed you."

"I missed you, too, Chaff." I peer around, and my gaze lands on Eleven's tributes. One is a large, hulking boy whom I would've thought a Career if I didn't know any better. The other is a sprite of a girl who's even smaller than Prim. I feel a pang in my chest. If Cedric is to go home, this child will have to die.

Chaff sees what, or whom, I'm looking at. He and Haymitch exchange a glance, and Dad nods. "Wanna meet my tributes this year, Em?" Chaff asks.

I blink at the unexpected offer. "Meet your...um, okay. Uh, Cedric as well?"

"Sure thing. Hey, Cedric Abernathy!" Chaff hollers. "Get over here!" When my brother skitters over, Chaff gestures for his tributes to approach. "Em, Ced, this here is Thresh and Rue, Thresh, Rue, I'd like you to meet Ember and Cedric Abernathy."

Rue looks decidedly impressed. Thresh looks decidedly not. "It's nice to meet you," Rue tells us, then to me, "You volunteered for that blond girl, didn't you?"

"I did," I confirm

"Did you mean what you said when your escort asked you why?"

I look down at Cedric, who scuffs his shoes. "Yes. Of course." Thresh looks intrigued now, but not enough to speak.

Rue sighs and tells Cedric, "I wish I had a big sister like yours. I'm the eldest in my family."

Cedric blushes. "Ah...she's not that great."

I pinch him him. "Ungrateful brat," I say jestingly, before returning my attention to Rue. "How many siblings do you have?"

"Five."

"Five?" I repeat eyes wide. I shouldn't be so stunned, since my family is almost as large, but we can afford to feed so many mouths. I'm pretty sure Rue's family can't. That must mean, assuming both her parents are alive, she must've taken eight tesserae, and that's only if she doesn't have any extended family. Rue's name was in the Reaping bowl nine times, four more than me. And that's only in her first year. If Rue hadn't been reaped this year, then by the time she turned eighteen, if only she of all her siblings took tesserae, she would've had her name on _sixty-three_ slips. Significantly more than even someone like Gale, who has too many tesserae himself.

But such hypothetical situations will never come to pass, because Rue was chosen today. Nobody gets reaped twice.

"What are their names?" I hear Cedric ask.

"Clary, Basil, Holly, Myrtle, and Dill," Rue rattles off. "Dill's the new baby. He was just born a month ago."

I nudge Cedric. "I remember when Summer was born. You hated her because it meant you weren't the youngest anymore."

"I did not!"

"I caught you trying to put her in the trashcan. But you were still a baby yourself so you couldn't even lift her."

Cedric is tomato red. "I'm not—was not!"

I laugh and take mercy on him. Mustering my courage, I meet Thresh's gaze. "Do you have any siblings, Thresh?"

He's silent. Is he giving me the silent treatment? No, as it turns out, because he says, "One older sister. Honey."

"What about you and Cedric, Ember?" Rue queries. "It's you two, Summer—" she nods at their baby sister, who's holding Mom's hand "—and...an older brother? He won the Games, didn't he?"

"Ash, and yes, he won the Sixty-Fourth," I reply.

"And Ash has a twin, Rain," Ced chips in.

"Really?" Rue's brow furrows. "I don't think I've seen her with you guys on TV before."

"She's not around very often," I say flatly.

Rue senses this is a sore subject and wisely backs off. "So you're the middle child, Ember?"

"Yup." Sometimes it feels more like I'm the eldest, though, what with Rain out of the picture and Ash doing God knows what. It's as if Mom and Dad messed up with the first two kids so they're trying again with the second batch.

I feel like a terrible person for that thought.

Meanwhile, Cedric has turned around to beseech Dad, "Can I go say hi to Beetee? I haven't seen him in forever." Beetee, a District 3 Victor, is Cedric's idol. Cedric devours all the information he can get on Beetee's latest innovations, and ever since he met and befriended the man a few years ago, he's been nigh intolerable whenever Beetee Latier's name comes up. The Victor, for his part, seems amused and flattered that he has such an avid fan.

Dad eyes the throng of other tributes in between them and the District 3 cluster. He's probably imagining someone accidentally stepping on Cedric. "I'll go with him," I offer.

This makes Dad relent. "Alright, but only for five minutes. Then I want you back here."

"Ten," Ced argues.

"Four."

"Dad, that's not how it works!"

"Do you want to go down to three?"

Ced huffs and gives me no warning before he takes off at a run, undoubtedly to maximize his nerd-out time with Beetee. I roll my eyes and smile at Rue. "And there's Ced in a nutshell. I'll see you tomorrow at Training?"

"Definitely," Rue agrees fervently.

"How about you, Thresh?"

He shrugs. Good enough. I wave goodbye to Chaff and jog after Cedric. I weave past cowboys and paper trees and God-knows-what-else, and I'm almost to the District 3 chariot when someone grabs me around the waist and pulls me into a well-muscled body. "My, my, Ember Abernathy, it's been much too long," Finnick Odair purrs into my ear.

I groan and stamp on his foot to make him let go. "Not long enough, in my opinion." Ever since I turned fourteen and developed boobs, the District 4 Victor has become an incorrigible flirt. I know he doesn't really mean it, least of which because I'm a bit too young for his tastes, but it's still annoying as hell.

"Ouch. That hurts. Right here. Feel it?" Finnick seizes my hand and presses it to his chest. "That's my heart breaking."

"I'll send flowers." I wriggle away, turn to Finnick's tributes (the boy is just as small as Ced and Rue and now _my_ heart is breaking), and say, "I'm so sorry this is what you're stuck with. You have my deepest sympathies."

"I like orchids!" Finnick calls after me as I take the last few steps to stand beside Cedric, who is, as expected, in geek heaven.

"—and that's all you need in order to spot it," Beetee finishes, then smiles at me. "Hello, Ember. How are you?"

"I've been better, I've been worse. I hope Ced hasn't been bothering you overly much."

The bespectacled Victor chuckles. "Ced? Bother me? Never." He ruffles my brother's hair. Seeing the camaraderie between the two of them makes me really wish they could see each other more often, but alas, travel between the Districts is heavily restricted. That our little clan is granted such free license to be shuttled between Twelve and the Capitol so frequently is an anomaly.

Then again, our constant travels are akin to Finnick's. The Capitol wants us in the Capitol, so we go. If we had a choice, we would stay in Twelve forever.

Cedric launches into another tangent, about force fields of all things. Knowing how my parents won their games, I should listen, but my brain is more suited for processing books, not physics, so I let my attention wander. My skin prickles, and I slowly shift my gaze to the side to see what's making my skin crawl.

Blue meets blue. My breath catches. The ice chips in the boy's eyes are burning, but with what, I don't know. It takes me a moment to collect myself and comprehend whom I'm looking at: the male tribute from District 2. I quickly run through everything I remember about him. Cato, a volunteer, obviously a Career, and based just on what I saw of him at his Reaping, absolutely vicious.

I am now certain that what his eyes are burning with is a thirst for my blood. I am, after all, a prime target, being the daughter of not one but two Victors. He's probably imagining all the glory he'll get if he kills me.

Well, I'll have to show him that he won't find me easy prey. I take my time sweeping my gaze up and down his body, not caring if he catches me—honestly, I _want_ him to catch me. Despite my choice of hair accessory yesterday, I am no shrinking violet. And when I'm done surveying him, I just give him one last hard stare before turning my back on him. It'll take a lot more than a few glares to frighten me.


	3. Chapter 3

Three:

Training starts without a hitch. All the potential threats—namely the careers—lumber off towards the weapons stations, which suits me fine. I sweep my gaze across the training center, wondering where we should begin. I am determined to ignore the gaggle of Gamemakers supervising us from their balcony. "Ced, any suggestions for starters?"

He scratches his nose as he thinks, undoubtedly searching his mental library for gaps. "Shelter? We're not very great at that."

"Shelter it is."

We learn how to construct, protect, and reinforce makeshift shelters in a variety of terrains. Igloos. Tree-houses. Lean-tos. Caves. The station monitor is keen to stress that no matter where we are, we always ensure there is sufficient oxygen flow. The last thing we want is to get asphyxiated in our sleep. I can see Ced filing everything away in his head as we move on to snare-setting. Katniss and Gale have taught us the basics at home, but since we don't depend on wild meat for survival, we're not experts like them. I soon realize that snares can be more useful than for just catching food, though; they can catch other tributes as well. I'm working on creating a trap large enough to bag a Career when Cedric nudges my shoulder.

"Rue is watching us."

I look back and see that the young girl is indeed loitering nearby. I catch her eye and smile. This seems to give her the confidence to come over. "Hey, Rue. Do you want to join us?"

"Can I?" she asks hopefully. My heart breaks a little more.

"Yeah. We're almost finished here, but we can work some more if you want to learn how to make snares. Or do you want to move on to a different station? We already picked a station each, so it's your turn to choose."

"I'd like to try."

I turn to Cedric. "Ced, show Rue the snare you were just working on. You're a lot better at it than I am."

He splutters wordlessly but acquiesces. I watch thoughtfully as he stammers through the instructions, redder than the strawberries Madge and I gorge on in the summer. Interesting. My baby brother is growing up. I grin to myself and continue the progress on my own trap.

When we're done, Rue asks us if we're any good at climbing trees. I've spent countless afternoons in the woods, perched in branches with Madge and Katniss, throwing pinecones at an unsuspecting Gale. It's indoorsy Cedric who could use serious improvement.

Rue makes climbing look as easy as breathing. She flits up the fake trunk so quickly, I'm afraid to blink lest I miss her completely. "How are you so good at that?" I call up to her.

"I work in the orchards at home. I'm always at the tops of the trees, since I'm small."

She works already? Kids in Twelve don't head to work until they're eighteen. "Alright, well, I guess I'll give it a shot." I clamber up the fake tree next to hers, less gracefully and speedily, but I think it's a decent effort. "Okay, Ced, your turn!"

"I think I'll pass."

I shoot him a look. "Ced…" _Climbing a tree could save your life, moron,_ I try to tell him with my eyes.

He must understand at least part of my message, because he sighs and moves to grip the lowest branch. Cedric doesn't so much climb as shuffle up the tree, hugging the trunk too tightly and glancing back down too often. If we were being chased by Careers, he'd have gotten an axe in his back by now. But I say nothing; I don't want to discourage him.

Ced reaches out for the next branch, but he overbalances, loses his grip, and falls. Though the padded mat below cushions his fall, it doesn't stop me from leaping down and rushing to make sure he's all right. "Ced? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." He looks embarrassed, and his face turns a deeper shade of red when he realizes there's laughter. And he's the cause of it. I search for the source and quickly land on the Careers, who are snickering at my brother's fall.

I'm reminded of all the times I rescued Cedric from bullies at school. Jerks who tore books from his hands and ripped out the pages. Shoved him into the fence and into puddles. Taunted him for being small, weak, slow.

I see red.

Before I can stop to think about what I'm doing, I march over. They see me coming, and their snickers have faded by the time I plant myself in front of them and cross my arms.

"Is there a problem?" the boy from One queries with false concern.

I jab his chest, and he almost jumps in surprise. "Yes. You. I'll thank you very much if you and your friends would mind your own business and stop mocking someone who's a hundred times better than you all combined."

"Please," the girl from Two, Clove, scoffs. "That runt won't last a day in the arena."

"He has more intelligence in his little finger than you do in your entire body."

"Then I'll make sure to cut off that body part before I start on the rest of him."

"Not if I get to you first," I say lowly.

Clove scowls. "Is that a threat, Twelve?"

I smile. "Yes."

A hand lands on my shoulder. "Now, now, ladies," someone drawls, and I have to crane my neck to look up at an uncomfortably close Cato. I don't like it. "Let's play nice."

I shrug off his hand. I've said my piece, and I'll take an out when I see it. "I'm glad we're on the same page." I turn and leave, fully expecting Cato to shout a last-minute barb or taunt at my back.

He doesn't.

"Let's keep practicing," I tell Cedric and Rue when I get back to the tree-climbing station. They stare at me in awe before scrambling to do as I say.

By lunchtime, Cedric has managed to climb a decent-sized tree in under five minutes. I consider it a success, and we break. The Careers have their own little club, so I make sure we sit at the table farthest from them, and I take the seat that will allow me to turn my back on them. I have no desire to watch them massacre their food.

Cedric loads his plate with carbs and meat. He is so Dad's son. I shovel a heap of glazed carrots on top of his fare, and he pouts. "Ember, you're not Mom," he whines.

"Yeah, and you should consider yourself lucky I'm not. She'd make you eat twice that amount of veggies. Look, Rue has a nicely balanced plate."

Rue is staring at something—or someone—behind me. I spin around in my seat. It's a small boy with a head full of curls and a face smattered with freckles. I think I recognize him. "Hi. You're one of Finnick's, aren't you?"

He nods. "I'm Ardi." The boy fidgets. "Can I sit with you?"

"Of course. We have plenty of room."

Ardi brightens, and he sits between me and Rue. Not long after that, the gangly pair from Three approaches. I'm starting to think we should add another table.

"So...is there a reason this table is so popular today?" I ask as we dig in.

The girl from Three, Marilou, loudly whispers, "You stood up to the Careers!"

I furrow my brow. "I just told them to stop laughing at Ced."

"That's standing up to them," the boy, Thierry, tells me.

I snort. "Is that so? In that case, they were long overdue for a good telling-off. They've clearly never been disciplined a day in their lives." Actually, that's probably a lie. From what I've heard, the Career training academies are military-like. They ought to have known nothing but discipline growing up. I change the subject. "So your mentor is Beetee." I elbow my brother. "Ced here must be dying from envy. What do you think of him?"

"He's the smartest man I've ever met," Thierry gushes. "And I know a lot of smart guys. Beetee is a genius! I mean, the way he won his Games? That was just _sick._"

If Cedric's skin could turn green, it totally would.

"I know Three's specialty is technology, and everybody has a further specialization within that category. What are yours?" I query.

"Military technology," Thierry replies.

"Computer programming," Marilou adds.

Thierry nods at her. "Marilou is great. She won a prize last year for creating the best program in our school. She beat all the older students." Marilou blushes and stammers about how it wasn't really that big a deal.

"How old are you?" I wonder. Marilou is taller than me by several inches, and I'm definitely not short, but her face is just as babyish as Ced's or Rue's or Ardi's.

"Thirteen."

"So you were twelve when you won that contest?" She nods. I turn to Ced. "Wow, Ced, when are you going to make an award-winning program? You gotta catch up."

"Shut up." He throws a carrot at me. I bat it away easily, laughing.

Rue decides to take the initiative next. "What about you, Ardi? What do you do in Four?"

The freckled child shrugs. "Same as everybody else. I work on my family's fishing boat."

"Everyone in Four has a boat?" I ask. Boats are expensive in Twelve.

"Well, yeah. How else do you make a living? Some boats, if they're well-made, can be passed down from generation to generation." Ardi's chest puffs in pride. "My grandfather made our boat, and it's still as perfect as the day he finished building it. Her name is _Queen Coral._" He glances at me. "So, uh, you know Finnick, Ember?"

I nod, tearing a warm roll of bread in half.

"How?"

"Ced, our baby sister, and I come to the Capitol every year with our parents, since they always mentor in the Games. Finnick also comes here very often. It was inevitable that we met." Not really. My parents and him run in different circles, and the city is a big place. But I know that at some point Finnick intentionally sought Mom and Dad out. I'm not sure why, and I've never been able to get a straight answer out of him.

"Oh. I see. Are you dating him?"

I choke on my bread. "What?" I manage to force out after having a coughing fit.

Ardi looks innocent. "I was just wondering, because Una—my District partner—likes him and if you're dating him, then she'll probably try to go after you."

Cedric and I both break out into peals of laughter. "Please tell Una that she has nothing to worry about," I finally gasp.

"Yeah. Finnick isn't interested in snots like her," Cedric chimes in.

I shove his shoulder. "He wishes I would give him the time of day."

"You think he's hot."

"Yes, and I also think he's dumb as a rock." That's not true. I know Finnick's smart. He had to be to win his Games. It's still possible for a person to be clever and stupid at the same time, though. But, yes, he is hot. I'd have to be blind to deny it. Doesn't mean I would date him for that alone. Besides, I already get more than enough attention for being an Abernathy. No need to add to that by becoming Finnick's latest conquest in his string of paramours.

Lunch ends, and when Ced and I return to the training room, we have a much bigger party than what we started with. I'm starting to wonder if I'm being too friendly. My chances of getting Ced home are much lower if we end up with a posse of kids tagging along. But I've already grown uncomfortably attached to these kids, and the idea of snubbing them now, after we had such an enjoyable meal together, rankles me.

Maybe I can get something out of this. "What are you guys good at? Besides tree-climbing," I add pointedly at Rue, who beams.

"Fishing," Ardi volunteers. Alright. I can work with that. Knowing how to fish can be useful in a number of environments. I'm familiar with the basics, but it can't hurt to learn more from an expert like Ardi.

"Do you mind helping the rest of us out with that?"

He agrees eagerly. As we walk to the station, I wonder if he's doing this out of genuine kindness, or because he has his own plan on how to make the most out of our temporary friendship, or, most likely, to buy our company so he can stave off loneliness in these last few days.

Cedric seems to be handling everything well so far, all things considered. I think that may be because our situation hasn't quite sunk in all the way yet. He knows our parents and Summer are waiting for us when we finish training, and I've been by his side all day. If I were in his place and my fellow tribute was, I don't know, Mom, or Dad, or pre-addiction Ash, then the Games wouldn't seem all that real to me, either. Yet.

Later, it turns out that after a few initial _blazing _mishaps, Thierry is pretty damn good at starting fires, and he graciously offers to give us a few tips. Ced picks it up quickly, and he and Thierry get into a science-y talk about fire and oxygen and friction and other things that I end up tuning out while working on my own campfire.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. My immediate suspicion is the Careers, but they're busy showing off like the peacocks they are and not paying us the least attention. Frowning, I turn my gaze upward. Most of the Gamemakers are observing the Careers, with self-satisfied looks on their faces, as if they're responsible for making them into killing machines. But one of them is staring straight at me.

"Rain," I hiss under my breath.

Rue hears me. "What did you say, Ember? It's raining?"

"No, no," I say quickly. "It's nothing."

But she's already noticed. "Who is that watching you?"

"A good-for-nothing Gamemaker," I mutter.

"Do you know her?"

I want to snap at Rue to back off, but I can't bring myself to yell at the sweet girl. "Sadly, I do."

"How?"

I rub my eyes wearily. "She's my sister." If the other tributes knew that Ced and I were related to a Gamemaker, they'd either be kissing up to us or targeting us, even more than they already are. But I don't see Rue doing either, and I doubt she'll spill to anybody else.

"Your sister is a Gamemaker?" Rue asks in disbelief. "How?"

"She's very smart and creative," I say coolly. "The Capitol noticed her when she was younger, and they enrolled her in a prestigious school here when she was twelve. She's been living here ever since." I vividly remember that fateful day ten years ago, when I was screaming and begging Rain not to go, but she just turned her back on me and left without looking back. Back then, Mom and Dad weren't quite sure what the Capitol wanted her for. It wasn't until she came back to visit one summer when she was about my age now that we found out they were training her to be a Gamemaker.

I've never been able to forgive her. Our parents were in the Hunger Games. Our brother, her _twin,_ was in the Hunger Games. The Districts suffer from the Games every year. And she's chosen to be a part of them? She doesn't deserve to be called an Abernathy. I honest to God cannot wait for her to marry her stupid Capitolite boyfriend so that she can have his surname instead. Then she won't be Lorraine Abernathy any longer, and people won't ask me so often why the fuck my own sister is a Gamemaker.

Speak of the devil. Said Capitolite boyfriend wanders over to where Rain is leaning on the balcony and drapes his arm around her. He asks her something, she responds, and then he's looking at me two with unnervingly blue eyes, bluer than mine or my mother's. I focus on his beard instead. It's a weird beard. What the hell is it supposed to resemble? If this is the kind of man Rain is interested in...well.

A very nasty part of me wonders if Rain began sleeping with Seneca Crane before or after she decided to be a Gamemaker.

Cedric finally notices that something is off. "What is it, Em?"

"Our sister is spectating," I reply flatly.

It takes him a moment to realize who exactly I'm talking about. After all, Rain abandoned us when he was two, and he's only ever seen her for a few days each year, up until he was eight. Cedric twists to look at Rain, who espies him and timidly raises a hand.

I put _my_ hand on his shoulder and turn him right back around. "Focus. Back to work." I refuse to look anywhere near the balcony again for the rest of the day.

We eat dinner that night with Mom, Dad, Cinna, Portia, and Effie. I'm not hungry, but I force myself to eat, knowing that the food will be thrown out if we don't finish it.

"Anything happen at training today?" Mom asks.

"I learned how to make a bonfire," I respond. It's the safest thing to say.

Unfortunately, Cedric blabs. About everything. "I learned so much today! We worked on shelters and snares, and then Rue, the girl from Eleven, taught me how to climb a tree, but I sucked at first and I fell, and the Careers were laughing so Ember told them off and got them to shut up, and at lunch we sat with her and Thierry and Ardi and Marilou, and then afterwards Ardi taught us how to fish, and Thierry worked on fires with us, and—oh! We saw Rain today." He sits back, satisfied.

Mom and Dad stare at him, then at me, And they say, at the same time:

"You told off the Careers?"

"You're working with that many tributes?"

I shoot a death glare at Ced. "A, I just told them to stop laughing at Ced. And B, we only sat with a few other kids at lunch and got them to teach us some skills."

"That sounds very mercenary," Dad drawls. "I approve. But it's not like you at all, Em. C'mon, what really happened?"

"I think we're all friends now," Cedric says helpfully.

The silence is damning. "Friends," Dad repeats. "Great. Just what we need. Attachment to other tributes right before you go into the Games."

"We're not friends," I sneer.

"Oh, really?" Dad doesn't believe me. "So, ah, you have no desire at all to be allies with any of these kids? If you meet, who was it, Rue? If you meet Rue in the Games, you won't have a problem killing her? If you three are the last ones standing, you'll do what it takes for one of you to win?"

"I—Dad! Of course I don't want to kill her! But that doesn't mean we're friends or allies. It means that I'm _human,_ for not wanting to mur—"

"Enough." Dad cuts me off sharply, and I realize I almost said too much. May have said too much already. The place is bugged, after all. "You know, Em, I really shouldn't be as surprised as I am now about what you've done today. You always have had a bleeding heart. I just didn't realize it was enough to make you forget about your brother or yourself."

"I haven't forgotten!"

"It sure seems like it!" Dad barks back. "Making nice with the other tributes? You really think they're cozying up to you because they _like_ you? They're using you, and you're deluding yourself if you think otherwise."

My chair screeches as I push back. "I'm full."

"We're not done here, Ember."

"Oh, yes, we are," I snarl before barging out of the apartment. I can either go up or down. Down puts me at too high a risk of encountering other people, so I take the stairs to the roof. There's usually a rooftop garden and pool and courtyard and such at the Tribute Centers. I'm not sure why, since tributes and mentors rarely use them. Then again, the Capitol is all about wasteful spending, so it's not like it's out of character for them.

I lean over the guardrail at the edge and glower at the city. Stupid Capitol. Stupid Capitolites. Stupid Games. Stupid Panem. I hate it all. Twisting everything good so that I can't even be nice to kids without questioning their and my own motives.

Stupid Dad.

"Ember?"

I exhale. "Hey, Cinna."

He moves to stand beside me, resting his hands on the same rail. "I'm sorry your father upset you."

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

He, too, gazes out at the city. "You know, I see nothing wrong with showing kindness, even—no, especially to other tributes."

"Really? Dad seems to think I'm nuts," I say bitterly. "It's not like I was _trying_ to be friendly! It just...happened. They seemed lonely, and I didn't think there was anything wrong with sitting at the same table. Everything just happened from there."

Cinna smiles. "And that is what is so special about you, Ember Abernathy."

"Hm?"

"You demonstrate compassion for others, even at the hardest of times. Your love for your brother, your family, shines through no matter the circumstances. You are courageous in big and small circumstances. You show some of the best qualities available to humankind."

I gape at him. "Are you sure we're still talking about me?" Compassionate? Courageous? I'm an overly bitter teenager who covers up my despondence with sarcasm and teasing.

Cinna chuckles and pats my arm. "Ember, do you know why I'm the stylist for Twelve?"

"Because you're the newbie?"

"Because of you." He looks me in the eye. "Not just because I knew you before the Games. Not just because we're friends. Not just because I like you. You, my dear, are inspirational, and not only in an artistic sense."

"I think we're talking about two entirely different people, Cinna. The most I've done is volunteer so I can bring Cedric home."

"And you don't think that's inspirational? Do you see any other District citizens volunteering so they can protect their loved ones? Ember, you are the only tribute in the entire history of the Hunger Games who is going into the arena with one hundred percent certainty that she is not coming back out. No, don't talk about how other tributes have known their odds of surviving are close to zero. Those other tributes may be aware of the odds, but they hope despite them that they can make it. They cling to that infinitesimally small possibility of living."

"Are you saying I'm hopeless?"

"Not at all, far from it. You are hopeful. Not for yourself, but for your brother. You're pinning all your hopes on his survival. You could have not volunteered and guaranteed your safety. Instead, you are sacrificing your life so that you can increase his chances of living in your stead. _That_ is noble. _That_ is courageous. _That_ is hopeful. _That_ is a true act of love. And _that_ is inspirational."

"He's my brother! What else am I supposed to do?"

"Do you see any other siblings doing the same as you? In this Games? Ever?"

"Be that as it may," I digress, "what does this have to do with what Dad was yelling about?"

"Your compassion does not just stop at your brother or the rest of your family. It extends beyond, to innocent children you've only just met. You know full well that your odds, and Cedric's odds, would be better if you didn't take up the burden for caring about other tributes. Despite that knowledge, you did so anyway, because that is who you are. And you should never be sorry for who you are."

My eyes are watering. Goddammit. "Would you tell that to my dad?"

"I don't think I need to," Cinna says blithely. "When I left, your mother was telling him off."

Thank God for Mom. "I guess I had better go back and see what the damage is."

Cinna smiles again. "It won't be as bad as you think," he assures me as we go back down.

He's right. It isn't. Dad looks like a kicked dog, and Mom doesn't seem upset at me when we come back in. "Thank you for speaking with her," she says warmly to Cinna. "Portia and Effie have already headed down, but they're waiting for you if you'd like to get a ride with them."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you for having us, Maysilee." Cinna nods at Dad. "Haymitch." Then me. "Ember. I'll see you soon." He leaves.

Mom looks between Dad and me. "I'll go see what Cedric is up to." And she leaves us alone.

Dad stares morosely into his empty wineglass. Mom doesn't let him have more than two glasses each night. Apparently he had a bit of a drinking problem back before Ash and Rain were born. "It seems," he begins slowly, "I may have come on too strongly regarding my initial feelings about you socializing with the other tributes. I apologize."

Dad rarely apologizes for anything. Mom must've really reamed into him.

"It's your nature to make friends with kids. I was wrong to try to stop that. And I was very wrong to say that you're neglecting Ced for them." At last, he looks at me. "You wouldn't be the Ember we know and love if you didn't have a little heart, even now."

He opens his arms, and that's all I need to go forward and hug him.

Dad says, muffled in my hair, "But we do need to talk about this Career thing that happened."

I groan. "They were being assholes. Like I said, I shut them up. That's it."

"That's not inconsequential," Dad warns. "Careers are an arrogant, prideful lot. They don't like anybody treating them like they're anything less than superior. Stay off their radar from now on, okay? I don't want you on any of their hit lists. We have a nasty bunch this year."

"What are your thoughts?"

"Two's tributes are the ones to worry about," he says. "but don't dismiss One, either. Treat the girl like Cashmere. She might seem ditzy, but she could be a cold-blooded killer underneath that pretty face. The boy doesn't look like the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm willing to bet that he'll have no compunctions whatsoever about killing in the arena. And he'd probably be damn good at it."

"What about Two?"

"The girl's smaller and younger than usual, but don't let her size deceive you. She's got that...look. The one that you usually only see in Victors _after_ they come out of the Games. That she's a killer, like it or not. And the boy…" Air gushes out of Dad's mouth. "Please, for the love of God, Em, stay out of his way. He looks like a beast. Probably is a beast. I don't want him crushing your skull with his bare hands as soon as you all step off the platforms."

I'm still unnerved by the look he gave me earlier today, when he broke up a potential fight between Clove and me. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll stay faaaaar away from him."

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who's reading! I've been asked by several readers here and on AO3 about updating faster, and the thing is Real Life is super busy, so that combined with the low interest in this story means infrequent updates. I only have so much time, and I haven't been getting a lot of feedback on this story, so I'm allocating that time elsewhere. *shrugs* I'm mercenary. I put in what I get back.**

**That being said, to those who do review and follow, thankyouthankyouthankyou! Seeing that little email alert in my inbox makes my day! I will generally reply to reviewers who are signed in, and I will also do my best to respond to anonymous reviewers (at least those who comment with something more substantial to work with than "update faster") by posting replies at AN's at the end of succeeding chapters. It can never hurt to ask questions. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

Four:

Despite my promise to Dad, I can't do anything about it if Cato decides he'd rather not stay away from me. I was having such a good morning, too. The Gamemakers made us all run through some kind of gauntlet, an obstacle course, and I didn't do too shabbily, but just mediocre enough that no one ought to pay me particular regard. Cedric was pretty damn fast, though he got winded for a moment when one of the trainers hit him with a baton.

It's lunchtime, and we're sitting with the same crowd from yesterday, this time with the addition of Jean, the girl from Eight, yet another kid far too young to be in the Games. We're all listening to Cedric and Thierry arguing vivaciously about catapults—catapults!—and the best way to design them when the table falls silent.

"What's wrong?" I ask. And I find myself instantly regretting choosing the seat that places my back to the Careers, when two muscled arms drop heavily down on the table, caging me in with a strong, hard body.

"What's wrong," Cato announces, "is that your table's jabbering is bothering the rest of us."

For some reason, I suspect that's not all. Cato cannot have come over here just to politely ask us to turn down the volume. And I use "politely" loosely. But as much as I want to snark back at him, I remember my promise to Dad to not do anything remotely antagonizing or provocative to the Careers. I'll have to try to bore him away. "Fine. We'll be quieter."

He leans in so that his lips are almost touching my ear. "Just them," he murmurs. "I'm rather hoping you're a screamer."

My jaw drops. Does that mean screaming when I die, or when… Ugh. Asshole. Either way, "Keep dreaming. You're never going to find out," I whisper back sweetly.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, very sure," I say at a normal volume. "Now go the fuck away. You're ruining my appetite."

Cedric and the others gasp and giggle. Cato doesn't like that. His grip on the table tightens, and he presses even closer to me, if that's possible. "Can't wait to meet you in the arena, Twelve. We're going to have loads of fun together." As suddenly as he got here, he's gone.

I can't relax my muscles. What happened? What have I done? Why is there now a target on my back with Cato's name on it? Fuck, Dad was right. I really shouldn't have gone up in the Careers' faces yesterday. Why do I do these things to myself.

"Ember? Are you okay?"

Thank God Ced and the others didn't hear some of the things Cato said. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

Cedric doesn't believe me, but he drops it. "Can we do archery today?"

I look up sharply. "No, Ced."

I'm usually better than my brother in the physical realm. Archery has always been the exception. Several years ago, when Katniss and Gale were teaching me how to shoot, Ced picked up a bow and hit the target, just like that. I wouldn't say he's Katniss good (no one is that good), but he could give Gale a run for his money in a few years.

The last thing I want to happen is to give the Careers, or any other tribute, the impression that Ced is a threat who must be taken out. Because if Ced gets his hands on a bow in the arena and over his squeamishness, he can be a pretty goddamn big threat.

During the rest of training, I can feel someone watching me again, and this time it's actually a Career. Seriously, if Cato wants some tail that badly, why doesn't he just go after Glimmer? She's practically salivating over him. Does he think I'm playing hard-to-get? Because one, I'm not playing anything, and two, if I were, it'd be more like impossible-to-get.

I'm more exhausted than yesterday once training finishes, and I'm looking forward to a hot shower when a lyrical voice calls out to me, right before I can step into an elevator. "Miss Abernathy, may I speak with you for a moment?"

I tense at the sound of the voice. I want to say no. I want to snap at her. I want to figuratively bite her head off. But the other tributes are watching, some in curiosity, others in suspicion. I don't want to give them a show. My expression is stony as I turn to face Rain. "As you wish, _Miss Abernathy._"

The other tributes trickle away, except Ced. "Em? Should I…?"

"Go back upstairs, Ced," I tell him, at the same time Rain says, "You can come with us, Cedric."

If only my glares could kill. Ced looks between us before prevaricating, "I'll wait out here for you, Rain."

Rain gestures for me to follow her back inside the training room. I do so and shut the doors behind us. For a moment, all we do is stare at each other, and I take the moment to examine how my treacherous sister has changed over the years. She's almost as pretty as Mom, with her golden hair but Dad's smoky gray eyes, the same coloring as Ash. Rain has grown out of her awkward teenaged body and into a willowy frame that I'm sure all the other Capitolite women are coveting, though its covered up right now with a loose summer dress. And she hasn't bothered to adopt any of the crazy Capitol fashion, so she's still _au naturel._

Her insides, I'm sure, are hideous. I zero in on the ring—which is probably worth more than the entirety of District 12—on the fourth finger of her left hand, and I wonder when the hell that happened. Looks like she's going to be Mrs. Seneca Crane soon.

(Oh, God. Lorraine Crane. Rain Crane. Really? Really?)

She's also scrutinizing me, apparently, because the first thing she says is "You've become a beautiful young woman, Ember."

I cross my arms, waiting.

"I'm so sorry Cedric was reaped. He only has one slip. I never thought it would be him."

I scoff. "Either you're lying, or you're stupider than your fellow Gamemakers give you credit for. Of course Cedric was going to be reaped. It was written in his destiny. And mine. And Ash's. It's written in Summer's. And it should've been written in yours, but you sold yourself instead."

Rain ignores the last accusation. "Ember, you volunteered. You didn't have to be in the Games."

"Didn't have—of course I had to!" I explode. "He's my baby brother! I have to protect him. Just because you don't understand the concept of family loyalty doesn't mean the rest of us have none."

"I am loyal! I love you, and Cedric, and—"

"I find that hard to believe," I sneer. "You threw us aside like trash the moment better opportunities came up for you."

"No, Ember, you're the one who threw me away!" Rain shouts back, and I find it unfair that she can remain so pretty even while angry. "I tried! I came home to visit. I wanted us to keep being sisters. You're the one who rejected me, not the other way around."

"Because you shouldn't have left in the first place!"

"I had no—!" Rain clamps her mouth shuts and takes a deep breath. "Ember, if you were in my place, you would have made the exact same decisions that I did," she says more calmly.

I am far from calm. "I'm not the traitor in this family. You are."

Rain's face is white, but she's still making a valiant effort to compose herself. "Ember, I…" We both hear footsteps approaching. Rain sets her mouth in a straight line, and quicker than I thought her capable of, she shoots towards me and hisses in my ear, "Make sure you check the very back of the Cornucopia! You and Cedric must work together. Prepare for the long haul. Always be ready."

The doors open, and in strolls Seneca Crane. "Lorraine," he says sternly yet fondly, "you know we're not supposed to privately contact any of the tributes." He turns to me and smiles. "Even if one of them is your sister. Ember, is it?"

He's smiling at me so amicably, as if he and Rain aren't going to be using the arena to try to kill me over the next few weeks. I can't stand it. I stalk out of the room, shouting over my shoulder, "I hope you have a happy rest of your lives together! We all know I won't be around to share it."

My head is swimming with anger and confusion. What was Rain trying to tell me? What kind of nonsense was she spouting? The Cornucopia? Does she want me to die in the bloodbath? I wouldn't be surprised. It's not like she's particularly fond of me.

Cedric looks pale, but before I can ask him what's wrong, something that feels like a metal bar wraps itself around my shoulders and hauls me to the elevator. "Ember!" Cedric shouts as the doors close.

I'm slammed into the wall, and I see that the steel trap surrounding me is Cato. "What the fuck?"

"So you know a Gamemaker, don't you, Twelve?" he sneers. "And not just that, you're related to one."

"What's it to you?"

"If you think you can use your connections to win the Games, you're dead wrong. In more ways than one."

I scoff. "Now, now, _Two,_ when did I ever say I intend to win?"

Cato blinks then scowls. "You were telling the fucking truth during the reaping? You're actually betting on your brother? God, you're either stupid or insane."

The doors open, and I manage to glimpse that we're on the second floor before Cato lugs me out to slam me against the wall of the hallway instead. "Excuse you, can you stop manhandling me?"

He ignores my politely worded request. "I don't know what you're up to, but if you think you can get your sister or whoever she is to bend the rules for you, you've got another thing coming."

I laugh shortly. "Come on, Two, you ought to know that the only rule in the Games is that only one person comes back out. And don't get your panties in a twist. I have no intention of asking any Gamemaker to bend the rules for me." Least of all Lorraine Abernathy.

"Good." He plants his hands on the wall on either side of my head. "Because I'm going to win, and I don't intend to let you or anyone else cheat me of that."

I raise my eyebrows. "Someone's overly confident."

"I've trained my entire life for the Games," he snarls.

"What a surprise." I narrow my eyes. "So have I." Shit. I wasn't supposed to say that.

"In that rat's nest you call District 12? By the pathetic excuses for Victors that you call your parents?" He leans in. "You have nothing on me."

Oh, really? I bring my knee up, hard, and Cato doubles over. Not even Careers are completely invincible, eh? I lunge for the elevator, but he must have a super-fast recovery time, or a really high pain tolerance, because he has the presence of mind to grab my ankle and pull me to the floor. "Let me go!"

"Not...until you tell me what you and that Gamemaker are planning," he seethes, pinning me down with his body.

"I'm not planning anything!"

"Liar!"

The elevator opens. "Get the hell off my daughter!" With surprising strength, Mom hauls Cato up, giving me enough space to wriggle away and scramble to my feet.

"Get your hands off me!" Cato moves to retaliate, but Mom nimbly ducks out of the way and stands by my side.

"What the fuck is going on out here?" The door to District 2's apartment bangs against the wall, and Brutus storms out. He stares at Mom. "Donner. It's usually your husband who's causing trouble."

"I was _ending_ the trouble," Mom snaps. "Are you so unobservant that you can't even tell when your tribute is assaulting my daughter right under your nose?"

Brutus spares me half a glance. "If your kid can't defend herself, it's not my problem."

Mom places her hand on my shoulder. "You'll be lucky if I don't report this altercation. Tributes aren't supposed to fight before the Games."

"Who says mine started it?"

"I found him pinning my daughter to the floor!"

Brutus snickers. "Donner, you're making it sound less like a fight and more like a hook-up." He rakes his eyes across us. "Can't say I'd blame him. I can see she gets her looks from you."

Mom's grip tightens. "We're done here. Let's go, Ember."

"Hey, Donner, let me know the moment you admit to yourself that Haymitch isn't cutting it for you anymore!" Brutus's cackling is cut off by the doors shutting.

Mom immediately turns to me. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine."

She says nothing else, but once we're safely ensconced on the twelfth floor, she starts again. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she asks softly.

"_Lorraine_ wanted to speak with me privately, so Ced waited for me while—" I start. "Ced! Where's Ced?"

"He's in his room. He raced up here a few minutes ago, telling me that the boy from Two attacked you."

Phew. "Well, Ced waited for me while I talked. The second I left the training room, Cato was on me and took me to the second floor. He was really wound up about how we're related to a Gamemaker, and he accused me of trying to cheat." I shrug. "He was being a huge douche."

"Do you think he'll be causing any more problems?"

I nod reluctantly. "I...may have said a few things to rile him up some more."

Mom sighs. "Ember…"

"I didn't mean to! It just came out."

"You get your mouth from your father," she mutters. "Oh, Em, of all the people you could've gotten mixed up with. If it were the tributes from One, I could count on their mentors to at least listen, but…"

"He started it!" I protest. "Cato's the one who approached me today, saying the awfulest things. He's the one who cornered me and made me go with him to the second floor."

"I believe you, Ember," Mom says calmly. "But are you sure you did nothing, besides standing up to him and the other Careers yesterday, that got his attention fixated on you?"

I probably could have _not_ said a few things to him during lunch today—but again, he started it. He was the one who tried to torment me. And as for what happened just now...actually, that was Rain's fault. She didn't have to call out to me so publicly to get my attention. I ignore the fact that I didn't have to reply by calling her "Miss Abernathy."

"Nothing."

Mom looks skeptical. "Are you sure, Ember?"

"Yes!" Speaking of Rain, I try to recall what she said to me, verbatim. Not the nonsense about how she was sorry or wasn't a traitor, but what she whispered in my ear right before Seneca Crane walked in. Should I ask Mom about it? Before I can, Cedric wanders into the room. His face lights up when he sees me.

"Em, you're okay!"

I manage a smile and ruffle his hair. "Of course I am. I wasn't going to let a stupid Career hurt me."

Cedric doesn't look satisfied, though. "I dunno. That guy said some pretty nasty things to you during lunch. I was worried."

"Things?" Mom interjects. "What things?"

Dammit. I love Ced, but right now, I kind of hate him. And how on Earth did he hear what Cato said? The kid must have super-hearing. "Just some taunts, Mom." I stare at Cedric, willing him to shut up.

He doesn't get the message. "They were awful, Mom! I think he really has it out for Em." And now Cedric demonstrates his nearly perfect memory by quoting, "He said, 'I'm rather hoping you're a screamer,' and 'Can't wait to meet you in the arena, Twelve. We're going to have loads of fun together.' He's going to try to kill her, really badly. I just know he's going to go after her!"

Bless his twelve-year-old heart. At least he only thinks Cato wants to kill me, and not any alternative underlying intentions. His innocence is, for now, preserved.

Mom's face is white. "Ced, can you go to your room?"

"Mom!"

"Please, Cedric, do as I say." Mom's tone brooks no argument, and he knows it. With a grumble, Ced slouches away. She waits until we hear his door closing before starting on me. "Ember, _why_ didn't you mention this earlier?"

"I didn't—I didn't think I needed to," I say lamely.

"Ember, your father and I need to know everything! It's your life at stake, yours and Cedric's! Why would you think that this...this...what Cato said to you isn't relevant?"

I pale. "Please don't tell Dad about this."

"Why shouldn't I?" Mom demands. "He needs to know this just as much as I do."

"You know what he'll do! He'll get angry and storm down to the second floor and get in trouble!"

Mom is upset, but she's still rational. I know she sees my point. "Em, why did you try to keep this hidden? Are you sure that boy didn't hurt you?"

"I'm sure! Look, Mom, I didn't…" I swallow. "I didn't mean to hide anything. I just… What was I supposed to say? 'Mom, this tribute whom you found attacking me insinuated that he's planning on either killing or having sex with me'? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Ember, of course I would never want to hear that! But I still _need_ to hear it." Mom takes a deep breath and rubs her forehead. "Alright. Give me a moment to change from parent to mentor mode." When she's ready, she looks back up. "How likely do you think Cato will cause you and Ced trouble in the arena?"

I bite my knuckle as I consider the situation. "He was probably already going to target us for being your and Dad's kids. In light of all this...I think he'll be gunning even more for us, to mark us as his kill. Me, at least, if not Ced. I would bet good money that he has me on his hit list now."

Mom nods in agreement. "The sexual insinuations bring complications. He's definitely attracted to you—"

"Really?" I interrupt, disbelieving.

"Ember, I saw how he was looking at you. He's attracted," Mom says matter-of-factly. "Now, it's not common, but it has been known for tributes, usually Careers, to engage in sexual relations during the Games, sometimes for as little reason as they just can. I can see him finding you and…" Her eyes narrow. "...misusing you, whenever he happens on you, before he kills you. Alternatively, I can also see him seeking you out at the beginning of the Games, maybe even before, to offer you 'protection' to ensure you, and maybe Ced, live to the final six or eight, in exchange for...well, sex. I'm not sure if he'll go for the latter, since he did assault you just now and he would know that would deter you from allying with him. Then again, he also knows you're connected to Rain, and he may think that having you on his side will buy the Gamemakers' favor."

"So, what? If he does have the balls to ask for an alliance, do I say yes?" I ask incredulously.

"The mentor in me is saying you should at least consider it, because it'll buy you, and maybe Cedric, time and security. The mom in me is saying hell no and to stay far away from him."

"I already tried that at Dad's behest." I sigh. "It didn't work."

"Yes. Clearly any strategy to try to shake off his interest is going to fail. So we'll have to use his attraction against him."

My eyes widen. "Mom!"  
She side-eyes me. "Don't tell your father about this, and I won't tell him anything, either."

I manage a laugh for the first time in a while. "Deal."

Mom mumbles to herself. "Make him feel protective? Make him more unwilling to kill her? Get him to let his guard down? Emotional attachment? Oh, if only Haymitch and I hadn't already used the star-crossed lovers…"

"If you hadn't, I wouldn't be here, Mom," I say quietly. "Or Ced, or Summer. And either you or Dad, or both." I add, "And not with all the acting classes in the world could I make anyone think I'm anything remotely in love with Cato. Except for the fact that he's kind of hot, he has no redeeming factors whatsoever."

Mom stares. "Everyone has _a_ redeeming factor, at least," she murmurs. "Ember, tell me again why he attacked you after your conversation with Rain?"

"He heard I was related to a Gamemaker and thought I was cheating by using my connection?"

"That's it!" Mom looks almost giddy.

I raise an eyebrow. "His one redeeming factor is his dislike of cheaters?"

"No, it's his sense of honor. Don't laugh," she says sharply when I start to scoff. "Hear me out. Careers play by a different set of rules than the rest of us. They have different morals, different standards, different expectations. They live, breathe, and die by the Games. Anything that compromises the integrity of the Games is a threat. He thought you were using Rain to give yourself an unfair advantage, and that's a travesty in his book. In his opinion, the Games should be won fairly, through strength or skill or cunning, not through familial relations." Mom spreads her hands. "So now we have at least two things to work with: his attraction to you, and his sense of honor and fairness in the Games."

I try to connect the dots, fit the two pieces together. I can't. "So, what, we get him to choose one over the other? Preserve me or preserve the rules? That won't work, because I'm pretty sure he won't pick me."

"No, he won't," Mom agrees. "Unless the rules change so he thinks he can have both."

I stare at her. "Mom, you said yourself just now that you and Dad already played the lovers card. They're not going to let two tributes win again, ever."

Mom pauses, then says, overly loudly, "Yes, you're right, Ember. We'll have to think of a different strategy." She leans in close toward me. "Ember," she whispers, almost inaudibly, "I need to tell—"

The door to the apartment opens, and a disgruntled Dad slouches in with Effie in his wake. "Good evening, Maysilee and Ember!" Effie says brightly. "We've had such a marvelous day! We won't have to worry about anything when it comes to sponsors, I assure you. Let me see if they have dinner ready for us…" She scampers off to the dining room.

Dad takes one look at us and immediately knows something is up. "What is it?" he asks warily. Mom does that eye-communicating thing with him. He scowls. "No, Maysilee."

"They need to—"

"Not yet!" he hisses, casting worried glances all around. Bugged. We're always bugged.

The only person behaving as usual during dinner is Summer. In fact, she's acting even more Summery than usual, as if to make up for our lack of cheer. I wonder if my baby sister catches on to more than she lets on. Halfway through the meal, Mom and Dad excuse themselves and leave the apartment. I bet they're on the roof, where they're least likely to be overheard. I'm dying to know what it was that Mom wanted to tell me before Dad interrupted, and any strategy she may have come up with to deal with Cato. As soon as I'm done, I leave, too, telling Ced he's in charge of Summer.

"But—!"

I place my hands on my hips. "Do you want to be a grown-up or not?"

"Yes," he says sullenly.

"Then think of this as an opportunity to demonstrate your responsibility." I hear Summer's innocently evil giggles as I exit. Thankfully, Mom and Dad aren't kissing or anything traumatizing like that when I find them. He has his arms wrapped tightly around her, chin propped on the top of her head as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. They aren't speaking; they're just there, beside each other, with each other, two halves of a whole. It's moments like these that remind me yes, they really do love each other, and it stopped being just for show a long, long time ago. Sometime before I was born but after Ash and Rain were.

(Does that have anything to do with how we all ended up turning out?)

Dad spots me first, and he smiles wanly at me before whispering in Mom's ear. She unwraps herself from him and heads for the stairs, patting my cheek as she passes me.

"C'mere, Ember." Dad motions for me to join him, and I do.

"I thought Mom wanted to talk to me?"

"She did. She does. But not right now." Dad tucks his arm around me and we watch the city together. His voice drops a few decibels. "Em, you know that you, Ced, and Summer mean the world to us. With the two of you in the Games...it's killing us."

"Dad, I never asked. Are you...disappointed that I volunteered?"

"Well, let's see. It was between you, one of your best friends, and little Primrose Everdeen. I'm certainly angry—not at you, but at the Capitol for making you choose. I'm sad, because this cursed family of ours is destined for tragedy. I'm upset, because I am, above all else, selfish, and of course I would choose you over either of the Everdeen girls. But disappointed, in you, sweetheart? Never." He pauses. "Well, maybe when you tried to sneak Michetto Mellark over that one evening. But not in this case."

I groan. "Dad, I told you, we weren't doing anything!" We were planning on making out, but that was it. Didn't count as "anything."

"I still need to punish that townie punk." Dad waves off my protests. "Point is, Em: no, I am not disappointed in you for volunteering. I'm actually proud of you for being so brave. Without you, I honestly don't know if Ced would last in the arena. Now he has a fighting chance."

"He's such a smart little dweeb," I say fondly. "He could've made it. I mean, you made it out of the arena, and you didn't have much going for you besides your brains."

Dad pulls my ponytail. "Brat. Now you're forgetting: I had your mother. If it weren't for her, I would have died. Likewise, Ced needs you. And your brother might not show it, but I know him. He's relieved that you're here. You're keeping him grounded, and you're sacrificing everything for him. And he knows it."

I try not to sniffle. "So what were you and Mom talking about up here? What was she trying to tell me earlier?"

"Ah. That. We can't tell you yet."

"But Mom made it sound really important."

"It is. But we can't tell you yet," he repeats.

"Dad, the Games start in a few days. There isn't a very wide window of opportunity to tell me."

"A few days is all we need. Do you trust me, Ember? Do you trust your mother?"

I nod fervently.

"Then wait, just for a little longer. Okay? We get through the interviews, and I promise you we'll tell you."

"And Ced?"

He considers it. "You're going to stick with him the whole way, and I don't want him to worry about it. Just you."

"Okay." We stand in silence for a few more moments. I feel a deep sense of calm, and I can almost believe that the Games aren't starting soon, that my days aren't numbered. Almost. But at least I have my family to get me through it, until the very end.

* * *

**Clearly, my greatest cardinal sin as a fanfic writer is never updating. Sorry, fellow Panemaniacs. **

***insert obligatory request for reviews even though I'm a terrible updater***

**Please thank ProudAthena 13, my best friend and beta, for reminding me that few though you lovelies may be, I do have readers, and I have a responsibility to write this story.**


	5. Chapter 5

Five:

Cedric, the poor boy, looks queasy. It's almost his turn to go in for a private session with the Gamemakers, and he seems about to puke at any moment. I don't think projectile vomiting will get him a high score. "Ced, do you need me to find you a trashcan?" I ask quietly.

"I need to lie down," he mumbles.

I rub his back. "It's okay if you're nervous—but you don't need to be! Shoot some arrows, make a few snares, prove how smart you are. You'll do great. Besides, even if they do decide to be jerks and give you a bad score, it's okay. We'll still have a bunch of sponsors, because our sponsors already know you, and they won't let one number get in the way."

Ced's smile is forced, but color is starting to return to his face. "Arrows. Snares. Got it. What are you going to do?"

I shrug. "I have no idea. I'm just going to wing it." I'm not concerned about keeping sponsors hooked, either, or impressing the Gamemakers.

Ced is called inside, and I spend the next ten minutes examining the split ends in my hair. And wondering how and what the other tributes did. Rue, I'm sure, climbed some things and showed off her agility. Ardi probably made some fishing lines and played around with a trident. I have no idea how Thierry and Marilou would have demonstrated their technological prowess, since there's nothing provided in the training center that would allow them to show off. And little Jean is from Eight, which is textiles, and I've seen nothing at all in the last few days to give any indication that she's picked up useful skills from her industry or anywhere else.

The Careers are a no-brainer. Marvel hefted around some spears and made dummy shish-kebabs. Glimmer stood there and looked pretty. Clove threw knives and acted like a sociopath. Cato beheaded a few dozen dummies and beat his chest like a caveman. They all scored well. Yawn.

Should I try for a score of one? That would be impressive, in a different way.

My name is called. I tighten my ponytail and enter the lair. I'm told that around this time, the Gamemakers have usually completely lost interest, since they don't expect anything good out of Twelve's tributes. I thought that a few of them would at least still be watching, since Ced and I are Victors' children, so we're a bit of an anomaly.

I was wrong.

They're all pigging out and guzzling drinks. Only Rain is abstaining, and even she isn't watching me. Whatever happened to being loyal to the family? Obviously a lie. She's cozying up to her boo instead. Fine. Whatever. Like I want her approval. I know the Gamemakers have been here for four hours already, watching tribute after tribute, but you know what? This is their fucking job. They're making money out of our blood. The least they could do is have the fucking courtesy to watch us sell our souls to them.

At first, I manage to rein in my temper. I just want to do my thing and get out. I shoot a few arrows, like I told Ced, and I'm a decent shot, though nowhere near as good as him. I pick up some knives and go after an innocent dummy. When I'm done stabbing it, I look over at the Gamemakers again. They've brought in a giant roast pig—I guess they're into cannibalism—and it's clear that they haven't been paying the least bit of attention to me.

Fine. I'll make them watch.

I take the dummy I've been slicing up and drag it to the camouflage station. Red is the brightest color available, so I take that and paint its chest. Then I lug it with me to the fire-making station, recall how I made a bonfire the other day, and set to work.

The Gamemakers finally look over when I get a good blaze going. Even Rain has stopped snuggling with Seneca to watch me curiously—and worriedly. Great! This is mostly for her benefit. I make sure they can all read what I wrote on the dummy's torso, and then I kick it into the fire.

"Lorraine Abernathy" bursts into flames.

When I return to the apartment, Dad sees my face and groans. "Em, what did you do?"

"I just got the lowest score in the history of the Hunger Games," I say pseudo-happily as I head to my room. "Can we get zeroes?"

Dad mutters something about needing wine, desperately.

"Ember, tell me we're not going to regret this," Mom pleads.

"I certainly won't," I state. I smile widely at Cedric. "How'd you do?"

"She's cracked," I hear Dad mumble. "My daughter's nuts. How did this happen."

"I was okay," Cedric says slowly, warily. "They didn't pay much attention to me, except Rain. I hit close to the center of the target every time with the bow. What did _you_ do?" he parrots Dad's question.

I start for my room again, to change into something more comfortable. "I'll tell you after the scores come out."

Once ensconced in my room, I allow the mask of bravado to fall. The truth is, I started regretting my actions on the elevator ride up. But, fuck, did it feel good to burn that dummy. And the expression on Rain's face? Just the cherry on top.

Dad's somehow gotten his hands on a bottle of wine by the time I reemerge, and Mom is studiously braiding Summer's hair. Cinna and Portia are having a hushed conversation, and Effie is on the phone. Ced is reading. I judge that he'll be the least likely to bug me, so I sit beside him. Tension holds the room hostage, and it amps up when the scores begin to play.

The Careers start out strong with high scores: Marvel nine, Glimmer eight, Cato and Clove ten. Thierry got a solid six, and Marilou a five. I'm pleasantly surprised with Ardi, who managed an eight—the same as Glimmer! Oh, she must be having an awful tantrum right now over the fact that a twelve-year-old got the same score as her. No one else stands out, and I don't pay much attention until District 8. Jean has a three. Ouch. Not unexpected, but still. Ouch. Thresh scored a ten, but I don't have time to ponder how he got it when Rue's seven flashes on screen.

"Twelve-year-olds are dominating this year," I comment to no one in particular. Then I grin at Cedric. "You're next, kiddo."

Cedric buries his nose in his book.

Caesar Flickerman announces his score. "An _eight?_" I exclaim, delighted. "Ced, that's wonderful!"

"What?" He stares at the screen, disbelieving. "How?"

"This must've been paying attention to your archery, after all." My pride in him is short-lived, though, because I am, of course, next. Zero or one? Will they set a new record just for me?

"Ember Abernathy, District 12. Her score is…" Caesar Flickerman looks down at his notes, and his jaw drops. Actually drops. New record it is. Hello, zero.

"_Twelve._"

Well, there goes my jaw, too. Dad immediately rounds on me. "Alright, Ember, what happened in that room?"

I'm still gaping at the screen. "I wrote 'Lorraine Abernathy' on a dummy set it on fire."

Mom sighs and covers her face with her hands. Dad stares at me for a moment before turning back to his wine and drinking straight from the bottle.

"Why?" Ced asks.

"I don't even know anymore," I mutter.

Dad barks in laughter. "You don't even know? Great, that's just great. You're number one on the Gamemakers' hit list now, not to mention every other tributes', and you don't even know why. _Great._"

I scowl at him. "Actually, I do know, but I thought I'd spare you from having to hear about how your darling eldest daughter wouldn't give the light of day to your other daughter right before she has to go into an arena of death."

"Oh, don't give me that excuse, young lady. I heard about how Rain tried to talk to you yesterday. If you rejected her, that's on you, sweetheart."

"I can't believe it!" I screech. "You're siding with _her?_"

Dad shrugs. "What can I say? I love all my children equally." He swigs from his wine again before Mom snatches it away.

"Enough, Haymitch." She hands the bottle to Effie. "Make sure my husband doesn't get his hands on any more alcohol." Then she comes to me. "Up, Ember. Let's talk."

I shoot Dad a glare before stomping after Mom to the rooftop. "It's not fair, I don't understand why Dad—"

"Ember, that's enough attitude from you," Mom says sharply.

I quieten. "Sorry," I whisper.

"We're settling this issue you have with Rain, right now."

"Mom," I say slowly, cautiously, "shouldn't we be focusing on the Games?"

"Yes. And we are. Ember, please tell me, in your own words, why you're so angry with your sister."

I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale sharply. "Okay. Okay. Fine. You want to know why I'm mad at her? Because she abandoned us. She _left_ us. She chose..._this_—" I gesture at the city around us "—over our family! She betrayed us for the very thing that haunts us most! And she thinks it doesn't matter. She thinks she can slip right back into our family, as if nothing happened."

"Ember." Mom smooths my hair. "Have you ever thought about, and I mean really thought about, why Rain came here?"

"So she could buy her way out of the Games," I retort.

"Ember, _think._" Mom's voice is hushed. "Imagine you were Rain, when she was twelve. Her twin was just reaped for the Games, and he came out almost destroyed. She knew her other siblings would very likely have the same fate. She was offered an opportunity to one day be in a position of power in these very Games, perhaps even in time to be able to help. Now what do you think?"

I don't believe her. I can't. I won't. "If that were you, yeah, I could see you doing that. But Rain? Never."

"Ember. Your sister loves you."

"No, she doesn't—"

"She does," Mom insists. "She loves you. She cares about you. You and Cedric. Promise me you will keep that in mind during the Games." I don't respond. "Ember, please. Remember she loves you. I trust her with my life. I trust her with yours!"

"Your faith is misplaced."

Mom takes a deep breath. "Ember, you know that I want what's best for you and Cedric, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Now I'm telling you, what's in your best interest is to _trust Rain._ If not for your sake, then for Cedric's. If you want him out of the arena, your best chance at that is to trust your sister. Please."

I clench my knuckles. "I'll think about it."

"Thank you, Ember." Mom sighs and continues to comb my hair with her fingers. "Now, do you have a token?"

I scramble to catch up with the change in subject. "No."

"Good. I have one for you. It's undergoing approval right now, but Cinna will make sure you get it."

"What is it?"

Mom smiles faintly. "The mockingjay pin that I wore in my Games."

The pin is a family heirloom on her side of the family, but it's precious to us for reasons beyond that. Dad told us once, when we were watching a recording of their Games, that seeing the pin on Mom's jacket made him trust her. The mockingjay is a symbol in Twelve, and in other Districts, of rebellion and resilience. Dad figured anyone wearing one couldn't be too bad.

Now I'm going to get it?

"Shouldn't you give it to Ced? I mean...if it's for good luck, I'd rather you use it on him."

Mom cups my face. "Ember, the pin is for you. Besides, Cedric already has a token."

"What?"

"His favorite bookmark."

I laugh. "You're kidding me."

"He had it tucked in the book he was reading at the Reaping. If it's what he wants, fine. It'll fit in his pocket, no problem." Mom bites her lip. "Now, Ember, bear in mind that Rain is personally approving your pin."

I stop laughing. "Did you really have to bring that up, Mom?"

"Yes. And I can't tell you why at the moment."

"After the interviews?" I press.

"After the interviews," she confirms.

Mom and Dad are making this reveal seem like a huge deal. I hope it lives up to the hype.

The next day, Mom and Dad rehearse with us for the interviews, while Effie looks on and offers pointers. Ced's angle is smart, cute, and cheeky. No problem, he just has to be himself. Mine is harder, because Mom and Dad keep disagreeing over what it should be.

"Sexy? Really, May?" Dad asks incredulously.

"Not _sexy_," Mom says impatiently. "But at least appealing. Desirable."

"Um...why?"

Apparently, Mom kept her word and didn't mention anything about Cato to Dad. Go Mom. "The Capitol knows Ember as an adorable young girl. Our daughter. We need to introduce a new aspect to them. Make her more than a child. Make her a woman. Our family's 'fanbase' is already mostly sold on her just for being an Abernathy. We want people beyond that group to support her for being _Ember._"

"Okay. Fine. But Ember doesn't necessarily equal 'desirable.'" Dad looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "No offense, sweetheart." I glower at him. "Ember is a lot of things. She's brave. She's witty. She's sarcastic. She's loving." Dad gestures wildly. "There! She loves her brother! Why don't we work on that, _as we originally planned?_"

"Because we still wouldn't be selling her as Ember. We'd be selling her as Cedric's sister, and that's little better than our daughter. Look, Haymitch, this isn't going to work. You focus on Cedric, and I'll focus on Ember."

Dad doesn't look happy, but Mom ropes Effie onto her side, so he gives in. "Just please, for the love of God, May, keep it toned down. I don't want the Capitol to think Em's a female version of Finnick Odair."

I shudder. "Yes, Mom, please tone it down."

Dad and Ced head to another room, and Effie decides her expertise is more needed with them so leaves us alone. "Right, then. Desirable," Mom repeats. "Can you do that, Ember?"

"Um…"

"You and Michetto Mellark had a thing going on for a while, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't serious. And we didn't do anything more than kiss," I add hastily.

"I know you didn't," Mom says matter-of-factly. "Now, Michetto definitely found you desirable. Do you remember doing anything to encourage that?"

"He mostly just liked the way I look, I guess."

"Cinna will take care of that. But you need to contribute something as well. When you were out with Michetto, how did you behave?"

I think hard. We broke up only a few weeks earlier, but it already feels like a lifetime ago. "I smiled and laughed a lot. I made an extra effort to seem funny. I complimented him."

Mom nods. "Good. Do the same tonight. You have a lovely smile and laugh; use them. Caesar is a wonderful interviewer, so it shouldn't be hard to ensure the tone of your conversation stays light-hearted and joking. And you know the Capitol well enough to be able to come up with nice things to say when he asks."

"Is that enough to be desirable?" I ask skeptically. "That just sounds like charming to me."

"Ember, you're beautiful, and I'm not saying that just because I'm your mother. Because you're beautiful, Caesar is guaranteed to ask you about any boys back home. When he does, I don't want you to name anyone in particular. Play coy. Say you've had one or two boyfriends, but nothing serious, like you just told me."

"That's it?"

"For you, yes. I'm going to need to borrow Ced to help you out. It's only fair, since you'll be dedicating part of your interview to him." Mom cocks her head. "Any ideas on what you're going to say about Cedric?"

"I'll talk him up. Say how he's really smart and sweet."

"And Caesar will probably ask you about what you told Effie at the Reaping, that you're here to make sure he gets home. How are you going to respond?"

"My answer stays the same," I say firmly.

Mom continues coaching me on various possible ways the interview could go. She helps me practice walking in heels, since I seldom wear them, and Cinna is sure to include them in my outfit for tonight. Eventually, I am whisked off into my prep team's care. After I'm plucked and primped to perfection, Cinna arrives to dress me.

"This is the dress that's the reason you asked about Madge's nickname for me, right?" I ask with my eyes closed, per his request.

"Mm-hmm."

I wait. "Is that all I'm going to get?"

"In mere moments, you shall see and know all," he says mysteriously. "How are you feeling about the interview?"

"I'm alright. I've been on TV before, done interviews before. It's nothing terribly new. Can I look yet?"

He laughs. "Someone's impatient. Yes, you may look."

I open my eyes. They widen. "Cinna, you've outdone yourself. And that's saying a hell of a lot."

"Thank you," he replies demurely.

The bodice of my dress is a crimson corset, and the skirt velvety black. The dress itself is a work of art, cut to flatter my body and emphasize my curves. But it's the cloak around my shoulders that's the true masterpiece. It's yellow, but it's also more than yellow. The fabric changes before my eyes, rippling red and orange, as if a fire is dancing within the material. When I give an experimental twirl, I look like I'm surrounded by an inferno. When I take a few steps around the room, the cloak flutters like wings and flashes in time with my pace—it brightens, even more luminescent than it was before, then quietly fades into its default hue.

"I spent a long time pleasantly studying fireflies," Cinna says as I admire his work. "Its head is predominantly red and its body is mainly black, but its tail is yellow. From a certain angle, its wings look yellow as well. And as you know, its light blinks on and off in the darkness."

"Cinna, it's marvelous." I go in for a hug.

"Do me proud on that stage," he tells me.

"I will," I promise.

We exit, and I see Ced dolled up as well, in a red and black suit. "Wow, Em!" he exclaims. "You look awesome!"

"Thank you. You're quite handsome yourself."

Mom has her hand tucked in the crook of Dad's arm, and she's gazing at us with a tender look in her eyes. Before she can say anything, though, Effie rushes in. "We're behind schedule! We must get going, we must go, go, go—oh, Ember, you look lovely—let's _go!_"

We're the last ones down, and since we're District 12, Ced and I just slip in to the end of the line, so Rue and Thresh are the only ones who notice us arriving. "Ember, you look amazing!" Rue proclaims.

"Thank you, Rue. You as well." She's been equipped with golden wings, which only serve to make her look more angelic. And hopelessly young. I nod at her District partner. "Thresh, looking good." He grunts in response.

Rue turns her smile onto Ced. "Cedric, you look great, too."

Cedric nods. I elbow him. "Yeah, s-same to y-you."

The line starts moving, and we file onstage. The lighting is such that we can't see any of the audience members, except those in the first few rows—namely mentors, stylists, and escorts—but you can feel the presence of all the Capitolites crawling on your skin. And hear them, obviously. They're screaming as we seat ourselves.

When Glimmer strolls to center-stage, I have to resist the urge to cover Ced's eyes. God, does she really not care that she's leaving absolutely nothing to imagination? Thank goodness Cinna has more taste than One's stylists. Her interview is rife with innuendos, and she never drops her sultry tone. I glance at Cedric, who's fidgeting uncomfortably. He probably wishes he had a book. I wish I had a book.

Marvel is up next, and he's charming, funny, and loud. And stupid. Which doesn't make sense. Careers are supposed to be the perfect killing machines, and that entails some modicum of intelligence. Perhaps he's hiding his true cunning beneath a facade of idiocy? Careers are usually more about showing off their attributes, not burying them, but I wouldn't discount that strategy out of hand. It worked well enough for Johanna Mason.

Clove is as cold as Marvel is warm, speaking concisely in clipped tones. But she also tosses in a good helping of sarcasm, which wins over some of the audience members who aren't impressed with her ruthless confidence and matter-of-factness. How exactly do they train Careers over in those Districts? Do they give some sort of personality test so they can match each kid with the best Career archetype to pose as at the Capitol should they be selected to volunteer? All of them, even icy Clove, seem to have some sort of charm, no doubt to win sponsors. They're all confident. They're all smart, though that's arguable in Glimmer's and possibly Marvel's cases. They're all skilled, and they're all deadly. But each one still has his or her own individual personality that makes them stand out, and I wonder how much of that is contrived.

It's Cato who steals the show, before the rest of us even have a chance to speak for ourselves. His suit is sleek and black, but it has no hope of hiding his bulging biceps. I doubt that was his stylist's intention, anyway. As he shakes hands with Caesar, he wears an easy, arrogant smile, and I can almost believe that he's some minor Capitol celebrity here for an ordinary interview. Not a soon-to-be killer ready to win over the wealthiest citizens so that he can better murder children.

And no, I am not judging him too harshly. It's clear from his responses to Caesar that he's looking forward to killing in the arena. I want to take Ced's hand, to reassure us both, but there are cameras on us, so all I can do is clench my fist. Maybe it's part of the District 2 primary school curriculum to purge schoolchildren of any empathy for fellow humans.

The crowd goes wild when the buzzer rings, and Caesar bellows Cato's name, holding up his arm as if he's already won the Games. Poor Marilou is next, and she can't possibly hope to follow that with anything attention-grabbing. Half the audience is still gabbering about Cato by the time she finishes with her interview, and Thierry has little better luck. The fervor has died down somewhat by the time Ardi is up, so he manages to scrape by decently.

My heart is beating steadily when Thresh concludes his turn. Just another interview. Just selling myself, my family, to the Capitol. Same old, same old. When Thresh lumbers back to his seat, I'm standing, a winsome smile on my face. Cinna's cloak is a comforting weight on my shoulders as I stride to Caesar, shielding me from the audience that is dying to devour me. I hold out my hand, and Caesar takes it, but instead of shaking, he kisses it.

"Ember Abernathy!" he croons. "The hidden jewel of District 12!" Not so hidden, though, since the Capitol gets a huge dose of us every year around this time. We sit down, and the crowd quiets. "Many of us here at the Capitol have been hoping that you'd follow in your parents' footsteps, but some of us were starting to think that day would never come. How does it feel to be in the same place they were, twenty-four years ago?"

Desirable. Complimentary. Funny. "Not quite the same," I correct lightly. "Instead of a romantic interest, I have my baby brother with me. He'll do."

Chuckles ripple across the audience, and Caesar. "Why, Ember, are you trying to tell us something? Is there someone special back home you wish were here?"

I shrug carelessly. "A few people." Madge. Katniss. Gale. Peeta. Not the _someone special_ he meant, but they're special to me.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure half the boys in your District are cursing themselves for not volunteering."

"And the other half is nursing their broken hearts," I quip. The Capitol laughs. They'll find anything funny.

"Now, Ember," Caesar says, calming the audience, "in all seriousness. When you volunteered, we were all stunned! Stunned, I tell you. Of course we understand why you'd be so eager to participate in the Games, given that both your parents and your elder brother are Victors, but you're competing against your own sibling. What were you thinking?"

I find where Mom and Dad are sitting. _Disappointed, in you? Never._ "I love Cedric," I say quietly, but firmly. "I'll do whatever it takes to get him home." _Desirable. Complimentary. Funny. _I say, louder, "Besides, I knew if I were just spectating, I'd be wishing I could step through the TV screen to shake sense into him during the Games. Literally. So I may as well be here to do it in person." The screens shift to show Ced, just in time to catch him sticking his tongue out at me. The Capitol loves it.

Caesar places his hand over his heart. "Such sibling love is admirable. I salute you, Ember. But surely you have your own aspirations of winning?"

No, it certainly won't do for me to publicly write myself off, even if everyone with half a brain knows I have. I have to pretend I have at least some hope of emerging from the arena. "Well, it would be pretty great to have my own house. Then I don't have to worry about curfew, or sneaking people in and out under my parents' noses."

The television host cackles in delight. "Oh, I'm sure your parents would be happy not to deal with that anymore, either!" The cameras switch to Mom and Dad, who look convincingly good-humored. "Now, ah, Ember. We're _all_ wondering, I'm sure, about your training score." The audience murmurs in agreement. "Twelve. A _twelve!_ Never in the history of the Games has anyone received a twelve. Ember, we all have just one question—one word, for you..._how?_"

Even if I wanted to discuss it, I know I can't. Not if I don't want the wrath of Snow and the Gamemakers on my head. "It's a secret," I respond, and Caesar and the audience groan in discontent. "But I'll give you a hint." A hint, especially the one I'm thinking of, will be sure to get on the Gamemakers' nerves, but not enough to make them outright gun for me anymore than they already are.

"Yes?" Caesar asks eagerly.

I lean in closer and stage-whisper, "It has something to do with my name."

Caesar's blue eyebrows fly up. "Your name?"

"Yes. Like so." I stand and, catching Cinna's eye in the audience, twirl. The crowd gasps and cheers as my cloak appears to be set afire and swirls around me. I spin into Caesar's arms as the buzzer rings.

"_Ember Abernathy!_" Caesar crows, holding up my hand as we receive the audience's adulation. "_The girl on fire!_"

On fire?

No. I _am_ fire.

I return to my seat, grinning at Ced as he stands. He smiles back and passes me to take my spot across from Caesar.

"Cedric! It's wonderful to see you, my boy. What did you think of your sister just now?"

"She was very bright," he says honestly. The audience loves him.

"True, true. And what of her thoughts on you? On why she volunteered?"

Cedric looks at me. "I'm grateful that somebody in the world loves me that much." The crowd _awwws_, until he adds, "She'd also miss bossing me around, so there is that as well." Then they're laughing again, and the cameras catch me rolling my eyes.

"Well, bossy or not, Ember seems set on having you as the Victor. Tell me, Cedric, what would you do if you won?"

Right off the bat, Ced answers, "Buy all the books."

"_All_ the books?"

"All the books."

"Is there any book in particular you're looking for?"

Cedric shoots me a faux-annoyed look. The cameras get that, too. "If there were a book on how to get rid of all your sister's annoying boyfriends, that would be splendid." God, at this rate all of District 12 is going to think I dated not just Michetto but all three Mellark boys, and Gale, and Thom, and Darius the Peacekeeper. And let's toss in Finnick Odair while we're at it.

"Let's look on the bright side," Caesar says cheerfully. "If you win, you'll get your own house as well, and you won't have to deal with them anymore."

"Well, yeah, 'cause Ember would be dead."

The audience hushes. Maybe they're only now realizing that, however much they love both Cedric and me, only one of us, max, can come back out in one piece.

Cedric continues, as if he didn't just announce a truth that the Capitol had been denying to itself. "You know what, everyone knows that Ember wants me to win, but no one knows what I feel. They all think that I'm okay with her dying, if that means I live. But I'm not. I may be _her_ brother, but she's also _my_ sister. I love her just as much as she loves me, and I want _her_ to be the one that wins. She says she'll sacrifice herself for me. Guess what? I'd sacrifice myself for her, too. I'm the younger sibling, but why does that mean I automatically get priority to live? She has friends, loads more than I do, who would be rooting wholeheartedly for her if I weren't in the Games. She has dozens of admirers, hoping she'll come home so they can tell her how they feel. She and our cousin like to say they're twins, and they _are _twins, in all but birth. I don't have nearly as many people praying for me, and I don't have a relationship with anybody that's anywhere as close as what she has with Madge. Ember thinks I should go home, because I'm the baby. I think _she_ should go home, because she has a lot more waiting for her than I do."

I scream in my head. Oh, Cedric, that's not true! It will kill Mom and Dad if he dies. If I die, Ced can at least still hold the family together.

Caesar looks anguished. "A pity, such a pity that only one of you can win. Your parents were exceptions, after all."

Cedric has a queer look in his eyes. It's one I recognize, because I get it all the time when I'm about to make a really bad decision. "Yeah, it's a real pity. Twenty-three of us are going to die. Odds are one of them will be me." He begins to point. "Odds are one of them will be Thierry. Did you know that one of the weapons he designed, for fun during lunch one day, is currently being constructed in District 3? Odds are one of them will be Marilou. She's the youngest person to ever be accepted to Three's higher education center for computer programming. Odds are one of them will be Ardi. He's one of the fastest swimmers and best sailors in Four, and he's only twelve years old. Odds are one of them will be Jean. She's a member of the team that personally creates the fabrics used for the First Lady's wardrobe. Odds are one of them will be Rue. She can fly around in trees like a bird, and she's the eldest of six. Odds are one of them will be Em—" his voice catches "—and she is the bravest, most beautiful, most amazing person I know." The buzzer rings, and Ced doesn't wait for Caesar to dismiss him before taking off. I open my arms, and he runs into them, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist.

Caesar, ever the consummate professional, quickly regains his footing. "Cedric Abernathy! And there you have them, folks! The tributes for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!"

The audience applauds, but their cheers are more subdued than usual. I keep a firm grasp on Cedric's hand as we stand facing the faceless crowd. I see Thresh out of the corner of my eye, and in a flash of inspiration, I reach for his hand. He starts at first and begins to draw back, but then he looks back down at me, nods imperceptibly, and accepts my grip. Then he reaches for Rue.

Our chain has made its way down to District 4 by the time they realize what's going on, and the stage goes dark. I make sure my grasp on Cedric's hand is tight as the lot of us stumble offstage and are herded to the elevators. The two of us, Rue, and Thresh end up in the same car together. Rue and Thresh are watching us, she with more intrigue and he with more wariness. We reach the eleventh floor, and they get off—"Goodnight!" Rue calls—then we continue the rest of the way up.

The apartment is empty, and Ced and I wait anxiously until Mom and Dad arrive. They exchange a look. "Alright, Ced," Mom says briskly, "time to get ready for bed."

"Em." Dad gestures with his fingers. "With me." To the rooftop again. We should set up shop there.

Once we're there, Dad pulls me so we're standing right beneath the wind chimes, and his lips are touching my ear when he whispers, "I'm going to make this quick. Don't ask questions unless you absolutely have to. The rebellion is stirring. Rain is on our side. Sometime during the Games, she'll hijack the Gamemakers. You'll know when it happens, and you'll need to take Ced and get the hell out of the arena. The force fields will be down. She'll have things stashed in the Cornucopia just for you. They'll tell you where to go."

His words punch me in the gut. A million questions instantly pop into mind, but I quash them, per Dad's demand. Instead, I ask the most important question: "Where are we supposed to go?"

"District 13."

On my last birthday, I was inducted into Mom and Dad's super-secret circle of rebels. I have no idea who else is involved besides them. I barely even know any details, just that Thirteen isn't nearly as extinct as we thought, and there is a growing, underground effort to rise against the Capitol. That's it. The less I know, they say, the better. The only reason they even told me this much is so that if something happens to them, I won't be left completely in the dark, because somebody needs to look out for Ced and Summer in their absence.

"Are we supposed to walk there?" The ruins of Thirteen—and the current Thirteen—are in the northeast corner of Panem. The Games arenas are rarely far from the Capitol. I've seen maps of the country before, and after some quick math, I figure it would take Ced and me at least a month to hike from the Capitol to District 13. If we're lucky. We'll also have to lie low, avoid being seen when we're near other Districts, hunt, forage, try not to get sick or injured.

At least we won't die in the arena. We'll just die outside of it.

"There's supposed to be a hovercraft to pick you up, and any other willing tributes. But don't count on it. They'll only send it if they think they can get in and get out without engaging the Capitol." Dad clearly doesn't look happy that rescuing us isn't Thirteen's top priority.

"What about you? Mom, Summer? The Capitol will find out about Rain, and they'll try to get you."

"We'll be taken to safety long before you and Ced. Don't worry about us. You have more than enough on your plate." Dad back off, signaling that this conversation is over. "Let's go back down. We want you to get a good night's sleep."

I'm almost giddy as we descend the stairs. I won't have to die! I have a chance! Ced and I just have to survive long enough, and we can get out of the arena...if Rain is telling the truth. If she doesn't let us down. And that's not even taking into consideration everything we'll have to endure after this break-out. I can see why Dad insisted on not telling me until after the interviews. I would've seemed way too happy and optimistic if they'd told me before.

I take a quick shower and change into soft pajamas. My last night in a comfortable bed for who knows how long. Mom, Dad, Ced, Summer, and I gather in our parents' room with mugs of hot chocolate. We don't talk, just sit there, together. God knows when we'll be united again. Cedric, I remind myself, doesn't know what I know. He thinks this is the last time ever. Hopefully when I tell him in a few days, a week, about the rebellion and everything, he'll handle it well.

We finish the chocolate, but none of us wants to go back to our rooms. So the five of us squeeze into the massive bed provided to Mom and Dad, and as I drift off to sleep, I feel safer than I have in a long, long time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it's taken so long. Real life can be a pain like that. Well, I saw _Mockingjay Part Dos,_ and I became inspired to finally get this chapter up. Hope y'all enjoy.**

Six:

I can almost hear the mockingjay singing to me as Cinna pins it to my jacket. Mom keeps it in a cushioned box at home, and she takes it out for every public appearance and dons it proudly. Especially for the Games, every year, though it's only recently that I've known her pride in it is for its symbolism as defiance against the Capitol, not of her victory. With all that's happened in the last few days, I didn't even realize that she'd failed to put it on for this year's Games. Now it's mine, until I see her again.

I _will_ see her again. And Dad, and Summer, and even wretched Ash.

(I don't think about Rain.)

Cinna steps back, looks me up and down, and smiles sadly. "You're ready."

I nod shakily—oh God, what if Ced or I don't survive the Cornucopia before we even have a fighting chance?—and lurch in for a hug. Cinna grants it readily. "I'm going to see you again," I whisper.

"I know."

(Does he really know?)

A pleasant voice instructs us tributes to get onto the platforms. Cinna presses a soft kiss on my forehead. "Show them what you're made of," he tells me. "Show them your fire." He helps me into the chute that will raise me into the arena. The glass separates us, and I stare at him, all the blood absent from my face, as I am lifted up, up, up and away.

The sunlight blinds me momentarily. By the time I blink it away, the countdown has started. I immediately look for Cedric. He's several platforms to the right. Our eyes meet, and he jerks his head toward the forest. Yes. Woods. Good. We can survive there. God bless Katniss and Gale for letting us tag along so often. I nod and take stock of the Cornucopia. It's full to the brim with supplies, and I even see a bow and quiver at its mouth, undoubtedly for Cedric. But we're not going anywhere near there. I scan the ground for any supplies close enough for me to grab without diving headfirst into danger. There's a backpack a few yards away, and a loaf of bread near it. Just those two items, then Ced and I are out of here.

"_Thirty-six. Thirty-five. Thir_—" The countdown cuts off.

The other kids murmur in confusion. "What the fuck?" I hear someone mutter, and I realize Cato is not too far down on my left.

The broadcast system screeches, but before I can clamp my hands over my ears, I hear a voice screaming, "_EMBER, RUN!_" before the sound system dies.

Rain?

Overhead, the hologrammed ceiling flickers out of existence to reveal the true sky above, cloudy and gray. I hear pops all around us—the cameras are short-circuiting.

The Games are over before they have even begun.

I don't know what to think. So, ever the good little soldier, I fall back on my instructions. I stare at the Cornucopia and recall what Dad said about there being "special things" inside for Ced and me. And Rain mentioned how there were really great items all the way in the back. I look down at the grass surrounding my platform. Have the mines been deactivated? I could test it, drop my shoe or something—no, no. I'll still be blown sky high if the mines are on. A girl dropped her token one year, and that was it for her.

I'm pretty sure the full minute for the countdown has passed. What I don't know is if the mines are on a timer—in which case I should be fine—or if they have to be deactivated manually by the Gamemakers, in which I would have to rely on Rain remembering to do so. I look up and realize everyone is staring at me.

Right. Rain shouted my name. They all think I know what's going on. And I guess I do, to a degree. Praying that Ced is not about to be short one sibling, I step off the platform.

Nothing. I'm still alive. I exhale a ragged sigh of relief. Alright, the other tributes can keep gaping at me all they want, but I'm out of here. "Ced," I call softly, and he instantly obeys, following me as I stride to the Cornucopia.

Of course it's Cato who's first to follow suit. "What the fuck just happened, Twelve?" he demands, catching up to me easily and grabbing my shoulder. Rude much. I shake him off.

"The Games have been cancelled. I'm not complaining." More kids are stepping off their platforms now, wary of the arena around us and of each other.

"You had something to do with this, didn't you?" Cato accuses.

"Ced, get supplies," I tell my brother, and he rushes off to scavenge the Cornucopia. "Look, Two, if you're bummed out that the Games aren't happening, it's not my problem. You and the rest of the Careers can hack away at each other all you want, as long as you let the rest of us get away first. I assure you, you four are the only ones in this arena who are disappointed by this change in events." I turn to help Ced, but Cato seizes my arm.

"The Capitol will fix whatever glitch just occurred," he states, as confidently as if he declared that the sun will rise in the east. "The Games will continue as planned. And I'm going to kill you first, to make sure you don't cause any more problems." I try to pull away, but he squeezes harder, to the point of bruising.

"Leave her alone." Thresh materializes out of nowhere and pushes Cato away. I rub my arm, trying to cover up my wincing with a fearsome scowl.

"Stay out of this," Cato spits at him.

Thresh ignores the Career and turns to me. "So what's the plan, Twelve?" He isn't the only one waiting for an answer. Almost all the other tributes are gathered around, confused and afraid and just a bit hopeful.

I don't want to be responsible for this many people. This many children. Ced is already enough for me. But as the most informed person in this arena, I have an obligation to do _something_. "I don't know if or when the Capitol is going to send anyone in here after us. I have no intention of being here when they come. _My_ plan is to get supplies and make a break for it with Cedric." I see Rue. Ardi. Thierry and Marilou. Jean. Such young faces. Thresh will take care of Rue, but the others? They'll be abandoned.

Damn my bleeding heart.

"If anyone wants to join us, you're welcome to come along if you can keep up," I announce.

Thresh nods. I guess he's a good companion to have. He's big, strong, and can take care of himself. The younger kids, though, will be more liabilities than assets. But I can't leave them here to fend for themselves. They'd never make it.

"Get what you want and need. We're leaving as soon as possible," I say tonelessly before catching up with Cedric. He's procured two sizeable backpacks and has repacked them with what he deems the most useful supplies. I don't question his judgment. "Make sure you get that bow," I murmur before passing him and walking to the rear of the Cornucopia. _The very back_, Rain said.

The _very_ back.

I peer up into the hollow tail of the Cornucopia. There's a cleverly hidden ledge that I would never have noticed if I weren't looking for something out of place. I stack some large containers so I can climb up and see what's on the ledge.

Oh, boy. That's a bigger box than I expected. Somehow, I heave it down and place it on the floor. I try to open it, but it's locked. Really? _Really?_ Frustrated, I run my hand through my hair, staring at the tiny, pin-sized keyhole that's keeping me from a likely treasure trove. Where on Earth does Rain expect me to find a key—

Pin-sized. My pin. She _personally_ approved it. I unclasp it quickly to take a closer look, and I find two things out of the ordinary. First is the miniscule set of numbers etched onto the back, which I make a note to ask Ced about later. Second, and more pertinent, is the slight disfiguration of the arrow that the mockingjay is clutching. I've spent so many hours admiring Mom's pin that I can instantly tell there's something off about it. The tip of the arrow has been reshaped.

"Please, please, please," I breathe as I position the pin before the keyhole. It slides in, and I hear a _click._ I sigh in relief and open the box. "Holy shit." Guns. There are guns in the box. And ammunition. And grenades. What looks like a GPS unit. A paper map. Some arrows.

But _guns._ How the hell did Rain pull this off? How did she sneak behind all the other Gamemakers' backs? Or, well...not all of them, necessarily. She'd only need to get past the head Gamemaker, and she's pretty tight with him.

_Guns?_ I don't even know how to use one. They're never provided in the Games, so Mom and Dad never bothered to train us with them. It would also have been extremely difficult for them to get their hands on one, considering arms are tightly regulated. What was Rain thinking? Was she blindly hoping that I could handle one, or that Ced could figure it out? Unfortunately, she didn't provide an instruction manual for him to study.

I pick up one of the arrows and examine it. It looks like a normal arrow—normal for the Capitol, not the ones we have at home. Sleek, black, made of metal or polymer or something unnatural. Near the fletching is a small red symbol. I squint. Fire.

Wait, what? Fire arrows? Holy crap, Rain is a miracle worker. I examine the other arrows, and there ends up only being one other type besides fire arrows. The other type has a little yellow symbol. I try to decipher it, and I just figure out that it means "explosive" when someone outside shouts, "There's a hovercraft coming!"

Fuck. Fuckityfuckfuck. Ced and I were supposed to be hightailing it for the edge of the arena by now. Arrow still in hand, I race to the mouth of the Cornucopia, where Cedric and a few others are cowering. A black mass in the distance is rapidly approaching.

"They're probably picking us up so we can restart the Games properly," I hear someone, Glimmer, saying off to the side. _I wouldn't bet money on that, my friend._

"Em," Ced whispers hoarsely, "that's not a passenger hovercraft. That's military."

A military hovercraft. That means guns. And it doesn't look anywhere near big enough to take all twenty-four of us on board.

"TAKE COVER!" I yell, and almost everyone scrambles to do as I say. Some push their way into the Cornucopia. Others scatter for the forest. Only the four Careers remain obstinately in the open. Fine. Good riddance.

The hovercraft gets closer, and suddenly Cato is barking at the other Careers what Ced just told me. "That's a military hovercraft!" And he runs into the Cornucopia as well. Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer looked stunned for half a second before racing after their alpha. Just in time, too. The craft opens fire. People scream, but thankfully they sound like screams of fright, not pain.

There's no way we can escape with that hovercraft shooting at us. My brain scrambles for an idea to get us out of here.

"Looks like you were right, Twelve," Cato grouses from beside me.

"You're lucky I'm not the type to say 'I told you so,'" I retort off-handedly, still trying to come up with a plan.

"Doubt that," I hear him mutter.

I realize I'm still clutching the arrow. "Ced, the bow!"

"What?" Cedric looks at me like I've lost my mind. "Em, we have more important things—"

I hold up the arrow. "This is an explosive arrow. If I can shoot this at the hovercraft—"

Ced's eyes light up. "It blows up? Cool! Got it!" He snatches the arrow out of my hand and inches toward the edge of the Cornucopia, just as the hovercraft spits out another hail of gunfire.

"No, Cedric! I meant for _me_ to do it."

Cedric holds the bow out of reach when I try to grab it. "Em, no offense, but you kinda suck at shooting." He scoots out again. The hovercraft is circling back around for another go. In a flash, he's raced out of the safety of the Cornucopia. I choke out his name in horror as he positions himself in the middle of the grassy lawn. Oh, God, I can't watch. Part of me is screaming at me to run out there after him, but another part of me tells me it's too late to pull him back to safety. He won't beat the hovercraft's bullet back into the Cornucopia.

Ced stands tall as he nocks the bow and aims. What if he misses? I should have given him more arrows! I bite down on my knuckle, gazing helplessly as the hovercraft's pilots undoubtedly home in on him and cackle in delight. "Ced, Ced, Ced," I whisper like a prayer.

The arrow whistles through the air, like the miniature torpedo it is. I'm not the only one watching with bated breath as it sails toward the hovercraft.

I cover my eyes as it explodes—or the wing does, at least. But if you tear the wing off a bird or insect or, you know, a _hovercraft,_ it can't fly anymore. And the rest of the body looks severely damaged as it spirals into the wheat field with a booming crash. As soon as it's down, I sprint toward Cedric, who's jumping up and down and looking way too pleased with himself.

I punch his shoulder. "Don't ever do that again!" Then I pull him close, into a strangling hug.

"But someone had to!"

"Then you should have let me shoot."

"Ha! You would've missed. I hit it," Cedric boasts.

"Should've gone for the hull." We twist around to see Cato. "The pilots may have survived. We need to make sure they're taken care of."

I tighten my arms around Ced. "Oh, so now you're against the Capitol?"

"I'm against whoever tries to kill me," Cato responds, looking ticked off. Still, I don't trust him. A voice that sounds uncannily like Dad's hisses in my mind that the Career is probably feigning it all, that everything is going to go south the minute I turn my back on him.

"I repeat: so _now_ you're against the Capitol?" I nudge Ced, and we start back towards the Cornucopia. "If you want to 'take care' of them, then do it, Two. Just don't involve me. Killing's your job, not mine."

"You're going to regret not checking," he warns.

"I'll try not to let it stop me from sleeping at night." I pick up one of the packs that Ced set aside and swing it onto my back. It's heavy, but that just means it's full of supplies, and we'll need plenty of them. There's no way we can carry all the supplies in the Cornucopia, even with all twenty-four of us, not to mention the weapons. Maybe the kids from Six, the transportation District, could construct a cart or something given time, but time is a resource we don't have. Sooner or later, the Capitol is going to realize the hovercraft isn't responding, and they'll send out another one to finish the job.

"It's a shame we'll have to leave so much behind." It's as if Thresh can read my mind.

"We have no choice."

"You realize you and Cedric are packing for two?"

I eye him strangely. "Ced plus me equals two, so yes."

Thresh elaborates. "If we're traveling as a group, we need to pack as a group. For example, tents. A few would be useful, but who's going to give up space in their packs for one?"

I see. I nod slowly. "We need to coordinate better."

The boy from Six is eavesdropping, and he chimes in, "Why don't we make a sled?"

"A sled?"

"A pallet, really. It won't take too much time. Some planks, some ropes." He nods at his District partner. "Franzi and I could work some magic. We'll be able to take a lot more stuff this way."

I like the idea of more supplies. And of it not taking too long. "We don't have time to cut down trees for you."

"What about branches and saplings?" The girl from Seven steps forward. "Bartel and I can take care of those pretty fast." They all look to me for approval.

I don't want to linger here longer than we have to. But I also don't want to run out of supplies before we're halfway to Thirteen. A bit of extra time here could mean the difference between life and death somewhere down the road. Another of Dad's many lessons: never say no to more supplies. Besides, if another hovercraft approaches, Ced can shoot it down again, I assure myself. "Alright, but be quick about it. Your names?"

"Lothar," the boy from Six says.

"Susanna," Seven adds.

I raise my voice so that all the other tributes hovering nearby can hear. "We're going to make a sled really fast, so we can take as many supplies as possible. Susanna and Bartel are cutting branches and saplings. Grab some axes if you can help them. Lothar and Franzi will build the sled. Give them a hand with whatever they need. Everyone else, fill the packs with food, medicine, water, matches, ropes, everything we absolutely need."

"Iodine," the boy from Nine pipes up. "We'll want to purify our water.

I nod at him. "Good idea. Thanks…?"

"Jaxon."

"Thanks, Jaxon. And Jean, can you be the lookout for any more hovercrafts, or anyone approaching?"

Glimmer steps forward, arms crossed. "Why are you in charge, Twelve?"

Why must we fight? We can't we all just get along, or at least tolerate each other? Life is hard enough as it is. "If you want to do something else, go ahead. Take what you need and go your own way. Try to make it back to District One, see if they'll take you back now that we're all fugitives."

"Fugitives?" someone repeats.

I try to explain it as patiently as I can. "If a Peacekeeper or anyone sympathetic to the Capitol catches any of us, we're either dead or incapacitated. They sent that hovercraft to annihilate us for a reason. They don't want us anymore, so they're going to try to get rid of us."

"So if not back home," Thresh rumbles, "where are we going?"

I remember the GPS, and I go to the back of the Cornucopia to the box. My pin is still stuck in the keyhole. I take it out and show it to Ced. "Do you know what these numbers are?"

He nods. "Coordinates."

Coordinates. To Thirteen. They must be. I take out the GPS. "Can you plug them in here?"

"Duh." He gets to work.

I lug the box out into the open. The tributes who haven't gone to help cut wood stare at the contents. "There is a rebellion," I tell them. "It's been growing for many years. I don't know much about it. I was kept in the dark for most of my life. But I do know that the powerhouse behind the rebellion is District 13."

Clove snorts. "Thirteen doesn't exist anymore, Abernathy."

"It does exist, and that's where I'm heading. If you don't believe me, whatever. You don't have to come with me. I'm not forcing anyone to go. You're all welcome to take your own supplies and try your luck returning to your home Districts. You're also all welcome to come with Cedric and me to District 13, which may be the only place in Panem that will accept us." I look pointedly at the Careers. "_Any_ of us_._"

"I got it!" Cedric rushes forward and thrusts the GPS in my face, along with my pin. I take both. There's a blinking dot in what I recognize as the northeast corner of Panem.

"How long do you think it'll take us to get there?" I ask him.

"All of us?" Cedric chews on his lip and does some math. "Big group, sled of supplies, circling around the Districts," he mutters to himself. "Two months?"

"You want us to wander around in the wild for two months?" Marvel demands.

"It's not wandering if you know where you're going." I wave the GPS. "Again, I'm not forcing you to come with." I look down at Cedric. "Can you draw a path on the map in the bin, just in case we can't use the GPS anymore?"

"Sure." He picks up the map, then pauses. "I don't suppose anyone has a pen."

"I can help," Rue offers. "I saw a patch of berries you can use as ink. All we need is a stick." She takes his hand and tugs him along.

I turn around to see Cato hefting one of the guns. "Hey, put that down!"

He raises an eyebrow. "You want all the guns for yourself?" I hesitate. "Do you even know how to use one?"

"No," I admit reluctantly.

"Well, I do. So I think I'm one of the best people to be handling one of these." He kneels beside the box and examines the other weapons.

I frown. "How do you know how to use one?"

"I'm from Two." Cato looks up at me. "The Academy that trains Careers is the same one that trains Peacekeepers. Guns are one of many weapons we learn how to use."

Indeed, Clove comes over and selects some small pistols. "Ah, my favorites."

"I thought you preferred knives?" I ask, despite myself.

"I do," she states. "But you don't bring a knife to a firefight. Even when you're as good as me."

"I can take one," someone says quietly. Thierry.

"You?" Cato says dubiously.

"I design weapons," Thierry says defensively. "Guns are weapons."

"Have you ever actually used one?"

"I've tested a few that I made, yeah."

"Fine." Cato stands. "Take your pick." Two, I notice, has selected a rifle and two handguns, _and_ he has a sword. Geeze. Clove is similarly armed, with pistols and knives tucked in her boots, pockets, sleeves, and probably inside her jacket. Marvel and Glimmer, though, aren't bothering with the guns. They're sticking with good old-fashioned spears and whatnot. I guess One doesn't get exactly the same weapons training as Two.

Which reminds me, I should find some weapons for myself. I take stock of the normal weapons provided, and of what's already been claimed. Susanna and Bartel, from Seven, are of course going to get the axes. Ardi and his District partner have scooped up the tridents, and what looks like a harpoon. Marvel is hogging the spears, but considering how deadly he is with them, I let him. Thresh got his hands on a sickle and a scythe. There are a few maces, but I have little experience with them.

Batons? Yes. I take one. According to Dad, the baton is the second-best weapon, after your own body. You can make one out of something in most arenas. A tree branch, an icicle, part of a different weapon. We played baseball often at home, and I like to think hitting home runs was one of Dad's ways of training us. I also pocket a few knives, since I'm fairly handy with them. I don't bother with the swords or machetes; I'm not weak, but I don't have the blatant muscle like Cato to lug one around with me. I'm pretty sure I've catalogued all the weapons, so I return to Rain's box. Cedric has the only bow, so I add the special arrows to his quiver, alongside the normal ones. I'll need to make sure he remembers to check which is which before he uses them.

Rain's box is now empty, except for the grenades, which I entrust to Thierry after I ask if he knows what to do with them. The kid may only be fourteen, but if he's an expert, he's an expert. However, the bin isn't as empty as I expect it to be. My breath catches at the sight of the weapon hidden beneath everything else. Do my eyes deceive me? I pick up the blowgun. My mother's weapon. Blowguns aren't consistently provided in the Games, but since one was so useful to my parents during their Games, they made sure that I knew how to use one.

I'm pretty good with it.

The blowgun isn't loaded, but there are a few boxes filled with darts, helpfully labeled. Needle point. Stun. Poisonous. Hallelujah. Mine. I load the blowgun with some needle point darts and put the remaining boxes in my pack.

Lothar and Franzi are putting the finishing touches on the sled. Damn, they're fast. We begin to load the big supplies: tents, sleeping bags, crates of food, water jugs. The two from Six designed the sled so that, provided the ground is relatively smooth, it shouldn't be too hard to pull it along.

Cedric tugs on my sleeve, back from berry-hunting with Rue. "Em," he whispers, "we still have the trackers in our arms."

I stiffen. He's right. But the only way for us to get them out is to cut them out, and I don't want to linger at the Cornucopia for too long. Then again, it won't be hard for anyone looking for us to just follow our signals. "Is there any chance of them fizzing out when we leave the arena?"

"I doubt it," Ced replies, "and they'll stay powered for several weeks."

Damn it all. Do we cut them out now or later? And we'll have to take the time to sterilize the knives and bandage the wounds afterwards so that they don't get infected.

"Problem?"

I eye Cato warily. I don't trust him and the other Careers at all. Of all the tributes, they're most likely to turn on the rest of us. Some of them might still even be sympathetic to the Capitol, despite the friendly show of hovercraft artillery fire a few moments ago. Cato sees the look on my face and rolls his eyes.

"Twelve, I told you. I don't side with anyone who's trying to kill me, and the Capitol is fucking trying to kill me. To kill all of us." I'm still skeptical. "Besides, we're _all_ a pack now. You don't turn on the pack."

"Unless it's final eight?" I say dryly.

He smirks. "If we all work together, hopefully we'll maintain a final twenty-four."

I must be dreaming. Working together. With Careers. Dad would tell me I'd be crazy for trusting him. Also, I simply don't like him.

Cato sees my reluctance and tries again. "Come on, Twelve. If I want to kill you, I'll tell you I want to kill you."

"You have told me that you want to kill me," I answer dryly.

"Well, I don't want to kill you _anymore._"

"You've also manhandled me, left bruises, and threatened to sexually assault me."

Cato rubs his temples. "I don't suppose a sincere apology will do it?"

"Keep dreaming, Two."

He sighs. "Look, Abernathy. _Ember._ I get it. You see me as a threat, and you have every reason to think that. But I'm not some muttation product that's designed to worship every facet of the Capitol. Contrary to what you may think, I'm not brainless. I know trying to run to the Capitol is less likely to get me a warm welcome and more likely a chest riddled with bullet holes. Besides, I'm just as human as you, and I have just as much a desire to survive as you. Sticking with you is my best chance to do that, even with a dozen useless kids hanging on. Allying with you gives me much better odds of getting through this than betraying you would."

I bite my lip. I don't know if I should believe him. What would Dad say? _Shank him and good riddance._

Hm. Maybe Mom? _There's trust, and there's _trust._ Just because you're working with him doesn't mean you're friends. As long as you're useful to him, and he's useful to you, both sides are benefiting from this relationship. Let him help, but don't turn your back on him._

"Fine," I finally concede. "We can be allies. If you must know, Ced brought up the fact that we all still have trackers in our arms."

Cato looks at his own arm speculatively. "Why don't we ask the nerds from Three if they can do anything about it?"

That...is a surprisingly good idea. I can't believe Ced and I didn't think of it. "Sure. Yeah. That works." I head to Thierry and Marilou, who are stacking supplies. Cato follows.

Thierry frowns as I describe our dilemma. "Trackers aren't weapons. Not my specialty."

Marilou, however, looks thoughtful. "I would say short-circuit them, but that's difficult, since they're embedded in our skin. They're probably waterproof, anyway. I didn't get a good look at them when they were injected, so I'm not sure if we could physically block the signal, or create another radio signal to jam them. We could try, but no guarantees."

"So the only foolproof way is to cut them out?" I say grimly. She nods. "Damn," I mutter under my breath. "This is going to be fun."

"We should get it over with," Cato tells me. "We'll have to do it sooner or later."

"Yeah." There's been no sign of another hovercraft. Maybe we can spare the time. "When everything's ready to go, we'll gather everyone around."

He suggests, "Clove should cut them out." I stare at him incredulously. "She's the best with knives. She knows anatomy. She isn't squeamish. She won't kill them."

Not so sure about the last bit. If only I could trust Clove's sanity, I would be more comfortable with this idea. But he's right. I would probably end up giving everyone scars if I tried. "Fine. Let's ask her."

Clove pauses packing supplies and listens silently to my request. She shrugs apathetically. "Sure. Shouldn't take too long. But someone else will have to bandage them up, and I need a clean knife for each person, unless you want us all to die of a blood infection."

Jaxon and his District partner set to heating knives and ensuring there's a ready supply of clean blades while I explain the situation to everyone else. Most of the tributes are understandably wary of letting Clove come at them with a knife. Great. I'll need to set an example. "I'll go first," I offer, trying not to let my own apprehension bleed through.

Thankfully, Clove looks impassive rather than sadistic as I seat myself in front of her. Without hesitation, she digs the tip of her knife into my forearm, where the tracker is somewhat visible. I bite down on my tongue to avoid hissing from the pain. Before I know it, the small metal orb is out and on the grass, with a few fleshy strands still stuck to it. There isn't much blood at all, and I expect it'll stop bleeding in less than a minute. I spray my arm with disinfectant and a liquid bandage, then slap a band-aid on top for good measure. I stand and smile at everyone else. "Next?"

Thresh lumbers forward, and Jaxon passes Clove a new knife, taking the one she used on me to clean. From that point on, the process goes smoothly: Clove cuts, I bandage, Jaxon and Skylar clean. Until it's Jean's turn.

"I don't want to!" she wails.

Clove rolls her eyes. "Twelve, you deal with this."

I shudder to think what Clove would've said to Jean in "comfort." _I could be doing much worse to you than this. You're lucky I'm not carving out your throat._ I tug Jean down so she's sitting beside me. "Jean, it'll be over in a few seconds. You saw how quick Clove was with everyone else. It doesn't even hurt all that much."

She shakes her head vehemently. I try not to hang my head in despair. Jean is the very last one. Even Jaxon and Skylar have gone. Everyone is raring to leave. I'm raring to leave.

Someone crouches beside me. Cato looks Jean in the eye. She visibly shrinks away from him. I worry that he's going to threaten her with being left behind if she doesn't go through with this—but maybe that tactic will work? I'm getting desperate. Instead, he says, "Look, Eight, just a few hours ago, you were expecting much scarier and more painful things in the arena, weren't you?"

Jean nods carefully.

"What's a little prick on your arm compared to all the things that could have happened if the Games had proceeded as normal? Nothing. It doesn't hurt much more than the injection that put the tracker in your arm in the first place. It's not like we're cutting off your arm—which is something that may have happened to you in the Games. So consider yourself lucky that this is the worst of it."

Well...that wasn't exactly comforting. But it's not like I expected anything different.

Jean continues to stare at Cato. Then slowly, she extends her arm to Clove. Before the younger girl can change her mind, the Career takes it and with a few quick slices, the tracker joins the pile on the grass. Jean sniffles, but she doesn't cry. I spray the disinfectant and liquid bandage. "There's my girl." I smile at her as I put on the band-aid, and she manages a watery smile back before clambering her feet.

"Well, that was fun," Clove says wryly, standing.

I nod at her. "Thank you, Clove."

"Don't thank me. I needed to quench my daily dose of bloodthirstiness somehow." She walks off to clean the knife in her hand.

I start to get to my feet and find a hand before my face. I gape at it for a few seconds before realizing what it's for. Shrugging off the vestiges of doubt, I take it, and Cato hauls me up. "And thanks to you, too, for getting Jean to acquiesce so quickly."

"There's nothing to thank me for. I want to get out of here as much as you do." He nudges the pile of mildly bloody trackers with the toe of his shoe. "Are we going to do anything about these?"

"No. We don't have time. Besides, we can leave them as a decoy. The Capitol will think we're still here, until they send someone to check."

Cedric bounces over, GPS in hand. "Are we leaving now?"

"Yup." I ruffle his hair. "Which direction are we headed?" He points toward the woods.

We decide that those who are physically capable will take turns pushing and pulling the sled. Duff from Eight and Una from Four are pushing now, while Lothar and Franzi pull. The boy from Ten, Vidal, tried to help, but his crippled foot is a problem.

"You focus on yourself," I tell him, handing him one of the unused branches so he can have a walking stick.

Cato efficiently coordinates everyone and proves his usefulness. The supply sled goes toward the back, so we can abandon it quickly if need be. The youngest kids are herded right in front of the sled, in the middle of the group, and they're responsible for clearing obstacles out of the sled's path. Everyone else takes up defensive positions at the sides, rear, and front. I'm at the head, as is Cedric, who insists he's the best with the GPS. I don't doubt him. Cato is with us at the front of the pack as well.

Finally, we're on the move.

**Disclaimer: I am not an engineer, so please suspend any disbelief regarding the construction of the sled. Thanky.**

**Please feed the starving author with reviews (or PM's if you're more comfortable with them). :3 When there's feedback, I work faster. When there isn't feedback...well, there was over a three-month gap between this chapter and the previous one. Orz**

**Also, I do love to interact with readers/fellow HG fans, so you can pretty much guarantee that I'll respond to meaningful and/or constructive reviews. :D**


	7. Chapter 7

Seven:

**Can...Can it be? Has it actually been less than a month between updates? Why, yes! It has been only 10 days since the last chapter! (As opposed to the 100+ days between Ch. 5 and 6...) I've been reaching out to followers recently, and their responses, combined with the surge in reviews last chapter, have made this writer deliriously happy. Thankyouthankyouthankyou to my reviewers last chapter: Arianna Le Fay, Lady Isabelle Black, and mayhem . for . breakfast (who left four reviews, haha). Please see additional notes at the end of the chapter!**

**You guys will also get your first non-Ember POV today. Whoo~**

**And in case you're interested, you can see some manipulated photographs depicting the Abernathy family members on my Tumblr, at **** post/134360260984/the-sweetest-mockery-abernathy-family-pics****. **

**WARNING: Gore and torture be ahead.**

Marvel jogs up from the rear to the front. "We're being followed," he says lowly to Cato.

Cato keeps walking beside me, but he gives Marvel his due attention. "How many?"

"I counted two. Could be more."

"Capitol?"

"Yeah. Probably from the hovercraft that Baby Abernathy shot down."

Cato shoots me a look, as if saying, _you see?_ I glower right back at him. I didn't say anything to him about his misplaced faith in the Capitol, did I? "Armed?" Cato inquires.

"I would bet on it."

"Right." Cato looks down at me. "Keep moving forward, like there's nothing wrong. We don't want to tip off whoever's following us. If you hear gunfire, run. Pass on the message, but don't let anyone panic."

I nod stiffly. He was right. We should have looked for survivors. Been the hunters instead of the hunted that we are now. Cato and Marvel head to the rear, and I turn to Thierry behind me. "I need your help. Tell the others…"

* * *

Cato collects Clove on his and Marvel's way back. He considers notifying Glimmer but decides against it. If the people on their tails have guns, then they can't afford to get too close. The only long-distance fighting that Glimmer good at is with the bow, and even then she's so-so. Besides, the bow is with Abernathy Jr. He can deal with any hurt feelings later. What's important now is taking care of the threat.

Thresh is bringing up the rear, looking tense. "Anything happen?" Cato asks.

"Still following at a distance," Thresh reports. "They haven't tried anything yet."

Cato is willing to bet that there can't be many more than three people following them. They know the tributes outnumber them, so they're most likely waiting for an opportunity to ambush them, probably when they all take a break or make camp.

Time to turn the ambush around.

"Thresh, stay here and keep an eye on the back. The three of us will split, go a bit further up the pack so our pursuers can't see what we're up to, then break off from the group to hide in the trees. As soon as we can see all the pursuers, we take them out. Clove, on the right. Marvel, we're on the left."

"Finally, something to do," Clove enthuses before heading up.

"Not going for an open kill?" Marvel asks as they stride forward.

"They have guns."

Marvel nods at Cato's rifle and handguns. "So do you. And last I checked, spears are long-distance."

"Bullets are faster. Not risking it. We ambush them before they can ambush us."

Marvel shrugs. "Okay."

"Leave one guy so he's not mortally wounded. I want to ask him a few questions before finishing him."

Once they're ahead of the gaggle of twelve and thirteen-year-olds, they veer sharply away. Neither bothers to climb a tree, instead preferring to crouch in the undergrowth. It takes a bit of time for the rear half of the pack to pass, and Marvel apparently sees the need to fill the silence with inane, distracting conversation.

"So," Marvel says, "Girl on Fire."

Cato tries not to groan. "What are you on about?"

"She's pretty hot. And not just because of the fire."

Marvel's comment rubs Cato the wrong way. "Do you think you can rein it in until _after_ we get these Peacekeepers?" he hisses with no small amount of annoyance.

"Well, I'm just wondering, if you're not going to go for her…" Cato growls, and Marvel snickers. "I kid, I kid. Besides, I prefer redheads."

Any other time, Cato would gladly have a conversation about the attractiveness of Ember Abernathy. (Because yes, he does find her very attractive. Not the prettiest girl he's ever seen—Glimmer is more gorgeous by far—but she has a spark, no pun intended, that one rarely sees in someone from the outer Districts.) But that time is not now, when they're trying to _quietly_ set up an ambush for the Peacekeepers tailing them. He knows Marvel isn't as stupid as he pretends to be, but sometimes Cato wonders.

Anyway, Cato isn't sure if he'll stick with the group the entire way. District 2 is close to the Capitol, and if they really are heading to this mythical Thirteen (which, at the rate they're going, he doubts they will reach alive, considering how many mouths there are to feed and kids who are more of a hindrance than anything), then Two will be along the route. Depending on the sort of welcome he can reasonably expect to find, he might just head home.

He doesn't forget what Ember Abernathy said about them all being fugitives now. He knows Two takes these things very seriously. If the Capitol tells Two that the tributes are fugitives, then Two will see them as fugitives. If the Capitol tells Two to kill them on sight, then Two will kill them on sight. If the Capitol tells Two that the sky is plaid, then Two will teach schoolchildren the sky is plaid.

But Cato has good reason to be confident in a safe arrival. Although Two has a mayor, Cato's father pretty much runs the District. He won his Games years before Cato was born, and as the most respected, most cunning, and still deadliest Victor in District 2, it's his father who everyone knows is really in charge. His father is the one who keeps the Academy running, and the high number of Victors from Two in recent years is a great indication of how good he is at his job. Cato is sure if his father tells the Capitol that his son has no ties with the rebellion (which is the truth) and doesn't know where the other tributes are going (not so much the truth), the Capitol will take heed if they don't want to lose their most loyal District.

He hears solitary footsteps. The pack is far ahead now. He and Marvel exchange glances. Two Peacekeepers come into view, their white uniforms not helping them blend in at all. Cato doesn't see any more of them, so he nods. Marvel's spear pierces one man's thigh, while Clove's knife finds a new home in the other's skull.

Cato lunges forward and tackles the living man before he can scream or retaliate. Instantly, the tip of one of his knives is at the Peacekeeper's throat. "How many of you are there?"

The Peacekeeper spits at him. Cato presses his knife down, enough to draw blood. "Just us. We were the only survivors."

"What were you planning on doing?"

"Why do you need to know?" the man snarls. "You've already got us."

"So I know how painful your death needs to be. Well?" The man is uncooperative. Cato brings in reinforcements. "Clove, if you wouldn't mind."

"My pleasure." His District partner whips out a dagger and slices off the man's pointer finger. Cato covers the Peacekeeper's mouth so his scream is muffled, and only until it looks like the pain has subsided does he remove his hand.

"We were going to kill you all while you slept," the man hisses. "Take the ones from Twelve as hostages."

Cato frowns. "If you want them alive, why did you try to gun us all down?"

"Thought they'd be the first to run for cover. Didn't think they'd be stupid enough to hang around the Cornucopia. Original plan was to eliminate the rest of you before hunting them down."

"You said they're supposed to be hostages. Hostages for whom?"

The man hesitates. Clove takes off a middle finger. "The rebels," the man chokes out after silently weeping. "District 13. Their parents escaped with some other mentors."

So Ember Abernathy was telling the truth. "Did the Capitol send you?"

"Obviously." Without any instruction from Cato, Clove decides to remove the ring finger for the man's cheek.

"Is anyone else being sent after us?"

The man groans. "They will be when they realize we're not coming back."

"How long will that be?"

"Whenever they next check up on us. Few minutes, few hours. They expected us to find the Abernathys by sundown."

Sundown. It's early afternoon. The arenas vary in size, but Cato doesn't think this one is small enough for them to make it to the edge by sunset. Then he spots the radio strapped to the Peacekeeper's arm. "Have you radioed anyone since the crash?"

The man is stubbornly silent at first, but when Clove makes to chop off his pinky, he quickly replies, "No, no. We didn't want to tell them anything until we had good news." Clove presses down her knife. "I'm telling the truth, I swear!"

Cato will take it. "Right. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to take that radio and tell HQ, your boss, whoever's on the other end, that it's taking longer than expected to find your targets. You'll need at least another day. There is no need for backup. If they ask about the hovercraft, you tell them it malfunctioned and crashed, and that's why you need more time. Straightforward answers only. Don't bother with code-speak. I used to train to be a Peacekeeper, I know all the codewords."

"You're from Two?" the man rasps. "You should be helping us! Not these other District runts!"

Cato laughs, without humor. "The thing is, these 'District runts' weren't the ones trying to gun me down earlier."

"If you help me now, you'll be rewarded. All three of you."

Cato sneers. "I can see your badge on your chest. You're a cadet. You have no grounds whatsoever to promise such things."

"I'll tell my commander—"

"You'll tell your commander everything I just told you. Be a good boy, and your death will be painless, with whatever digits you have left still attached. Now." Cato rips the radio from the man's arm and holds it out to him. "Do you need me to repeat anything?"

The Peacekeeper relays everything Cato instructed. The threat of his blade at his throat and Clove's knife at his remaining fingers deter him from trying anything funny. Cato ensures that only what must be said is said, so that the Peacekeeper can't slip any codewords they may have at the Capitol. Whoever's on the other end—surely an underling—suspects nothing at all and readily grants more time to hunt down the tributes.

When the conversation ends, Cato hands the radio to Marvel. "Destroy this, and the one on the other Peacekeeper." He soons hears distinct crunching sounds.

"Are you going to kill me yet?" the Peacekeeper asks bitterly.

"Soon. Is there any more information you'd like to volunteer?" Cato thinks about the voice who shouted for Ember Abernathy to run. "Know anything about what's happening with the Gamemakers?"

"Utter chaos. They're panicking. Someone's been arrested. Don't know who."

"What of the District 2 mentors?"

"I've heard nothing."

Cato doesn't doubt it. Brutus and Enobaria aren't the type to go against the Capitol. "Clove, Marvel, anything you want to ask?"

"Don't care about my mentors that much," Marvel says.

"Are you sure I can't cut off the pinky?"

"No, Clove. I promised no more, and I keep my word." Cato stares the Peacekeeper in the eye. "How about you? Any last words?"

"Fuck you."

"You're not my type." Cato drives in his knife. Blood spatters his face and shirt.

Clove rises, stretching. "That was fun. Sure there aren't any more out here?"

"We weren't attacked while interviewing him, so yes, I'm sure." Cato stands. He claims the dead Peacekeepers' guns and cleans his knife on the uniform of the one he questioned. "Clove, let Thresh know the problem has been taken care of." The pack is a long ways away, but they'll have no problem catching up.

Clove goes, and Cato and Marvel quickly check the Peacekeepers' persons for anything of use. Some cuffs and their keys—if they encounter anyone on the road, once they exit the arena, they may need to incapacitate without killing. Flashlights and batteries, can't have too many of those. A pen on the one Clove killed—Abernathy Jr. will appreciate it. A pocketknife. Wallets. Both have some cash inside. Again, if they encounter anyone on the road, and it's a _positive_ interaction, they might need something to barter with. Cash is very good for that. Done scavenging, he and Marvel drag the bodies into the bushes, in case backup is sent before the pack is out of the arena. They don't want a trail of corpses broadcasting their path.

Cato and Marvel have long legs, so it doesn't take long for them to catch up. Marvel slips back into the rear of the pack with Thresh, who nods at them but says nothing. Cato continues on to the front, where the Abernathys are still leading the group. "Anything happen here while I was gone?"

"No. Everyone was tense until Clove came—" Ember Abernathy stares at him, mildly horrified.

"What?"

"You've got…" She gestures. "Blood. All over your face."

Fuck. He forgot about that. Cato wipes his face with his sleeve.

"Guess you took care of our followers," she says quietly.

Cato's hackles rise. If she tries to condemn him for doing what was necessary to keep everyone safe...

"Thank you," she adds sincerely.

He blinks in surprise. Then he nods curtly in response, and they continue to walk in silence.

* * *

Shortly before sunset, we make camp. I'm not sure how close we are to the edge of the arena now, but we can't travel in the dark. I'm worried about what the Gamemakers may have planted in the woods for us. Mutts are nothing to take lightly.

Cato doesn't object when Thierry builds a fire, so I take that to mean we don't need to worry about causing undue attention. Speaking of whom, I need to ask Cato what happened today. He was gone an awfully long time, which I take to mean he had an opportunity to "ask" our pursuers a few questions.

I'm not sure I want to know how he asked those questions.

Since the weather isn't being manipulated by the Gamemakers, the air is pleasantly warm. The majority of us agree that tents aren't necessary, so we just lay out sleeping bags. Ced has gone off to shoot some squirrels or rabbits so we don't have to dig into our supplies yet. Marvel went with him to make sure he's okay. I don't know when I began trusting a Career with my brother's safety, but I do. It's unnerving.

Clove's also tagged along with them to see if she can cut down any animals with her knives. Now, I don't trust _her_ with Ced just yet.

Rue, Thresh, and a small team of other kids are foraging. Jaxon and Skylar have fetched water from the nearby stream and are boiling it. Ardi and Una are fishing. I have my blowgun, so I could still catch up with the hunting group, but I think we're good on food for now. The more pressing need is for me to talk to Cato.

I hear him and Glimmer arguing downstream, away from everyone else. "You should've asked me to come with you!"

"Clearly, we were fine without you. Now lay off, Glimmer."

"I was stuck babysitting the brats while you three had fun! That's not fair."

"Fucking deal with it."

I clear my throat. They whirl around. "Am I interrupting?"

"Yes," Glimmer snaps.

"I'm afraid you'll have to continue this later. I need to talk to Cato."

Glimmer opens her mouth to retort, but Cato cuts her off. "Go back to camp, Glimmer. Do something useful for once." The gorgeous blonde looks wounded and incensed as she stalks away.

I fold my arms and look up at Cato. "That wasn't nice."

"Are you seriously complaining?"

"Glimmer isn't my favorite person, but no one should be talked down to like that." Cato looks away for a moment. He still has dried blood on his face. I point it out.

He seems unconcerned. "Shirt's worse."

"Let me see?"

Cato unzips his jacket. He's right. Shirt is way worse. We have some spare clothes among the supplies, but very few of them would have any hope of fitting Cato, who, after Thresh, is the most built of us all. And we have to make everything on that sled last as long as possible.

"I can try washing it as best I can. I'll get soap." I turn to go, but he stops me.

"You're offering to do my laundry? Has the world ended? You want something from me, don't you, Twelve?"

"I want to know what happened when you 'took care of the problem' today," I say honestly.

"You could've just asked. You don't need to bribe me."

"I'm not bribing you, I'm repaying you for getting your hands dirty so the rest of us didn't have to. I'll be right back." When I come back with the soap, he's still in the same spot. "Give me your shirt. You can talk while I scrub."

He shrugs off his jacket then peels off his shirt. As his abs come into view, I suddenly remember that Cato is a very attractive specimen, even if his unpleasant personality does neutralize that most of the time. "If you wanted my clothes off, you could've just asked."

Ugh. Typical male. I grab the shirt and perch on the bank of the stream. The stains have set in, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with. Every girl I know is experienced in the art of getting bloodstains out of clothes. I try not to think of what must have happened for so much blood to have saturated Cato's shirt. "So, Two, talk."

"Two isn't my name."

I twist around, eyebrows raised. "And Twelve isn't mine."

"Fair enough. Ember."

I'm having a civil conversation with a Career. Weirdness overload. "Well...Cato?"

He tells me about the two Peacekeepers who survived the hovercraft crash and decided to tail us. They would've murdered us all in our sleep if Marvel and Thresh hadn't spotted them. That is, all of us but Cedric and me.

"Why us?"

"They wanted you as hostages, against the rebellion."

"But we're not worth anything to them. To Thirteen."

"You're worth plenty to your parents."

I almost drop the bar of soap. "My parents. My parents? What did he say about them? Where are they? Are they okay?"

"All he said was that they escaped with some other mentors."

A weight I didn't know I had been carrying disappears from my shoulders. Mom. Dad. They're okay. They're safe. And if they're safe, that means Summer is safe, because they would never leave her behind. "Thank God," I breathe.

"He said that backup would probably have been sent...right around now, actually. But I had him radio someone and tell them he needed more time to look for you and your brother. If the people on the other end fell for it, we have another day before they realize something is wrong. We want to be out of the arena by then."

"Definitely," I agree. "We're sitting ducks while we're still in here. The arena is Capitol territory." I continue scrubbing. "Did he say anything else?" He hesitates. That means yes. "What, Cato?"

"A Gamemaker was arrested."

I freeze. I can only think of one Gamemaker they would arrest. "Rain?"

"He didn't know, only that someone was."

Rain. Rain. Rain. My sister, whom I hated for so long, saved us. She saved us all from the Games. She gave us weapons, directions, a fighting chance. And now that I'm finally letting go of my resentment, she's been arrested. They could be torturing her, starving her. She might be dead.

(Why do I hurt so much?)

I scrub again, with renewed fervor. "They'll get her out," I say to myself. "The rebels will free her. They owe her." I owe her.

"Ember." Cato crouches beside me. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Fine. Totally fine. It's just…" I take a deep breath. "I don't know how to explain it. And you probably don't want to hear it."

"Try me."

I stare at the rippling brook. I'm really about to pour my heart out to a Career, aren't I? This arena must be getting to my head. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yeah. An older sister and brother, and a younger sister."

For some reason, I thought Cato was an only child. No, that's not quite right, either. I didn't think about his family at all. I mean, I knew he had one, but I never really _thought_ it. I guess he was justified in reminding me earlier that he is, contrary to common belief, human. "What are their names? How old are they?"

"Vespasia is twenty-three. Tiberius is twenty-five. Laelia is eight."

Wow. Minus a Cedric and his family could practically be my own. "You love them, don't you?"

"Sometimes. Vespasia can be a bitch, Tiberius an ass, and Laelia a pain. But most of the time they're all right."

Somehow, I chuckle at his colorful description. "But you've never really, truly hated any of them, have you?"

He thinks carefully about it. "Can't say I have."

"I've spent the last ten years hating Rain. This morning, I realized how wrong I was for harboring such feelings. Just now, I learned that she may be lost to us forever, and the last thing I ever said to her was...cruel. I might never be able to make it up to her. I'm angry and upset right now, at myself, at the Capitol, and at her, even though I have no right, not towards her."

"Why did you hate her?"

"I always thought she abandoned us for the Capitol, so she could go to a super-fancy school and get a cushy job. Turns out she was doing it for us."

Cato sits back on the grass. "In Two, it's considered a huge honor if someone is invited to study or live at the Capitol, for the individual and the family. It requires a person of special breed to catch the Capitol's attention and gain their favor."

I snort. "We're not Capitol-adoring sycophants in Twelve. They don't feed or pamper us anywhere close to the degree they do you."

"You look plenty fed and pampered," he points out.

"I'm the child of two Victors. Together, they're sinfully rich. I always knew when my next meal would be, but the majority of Twelve is destitute. My mother is from the part of Twelve we call the town. Life is better there, food is more dependable, jobs are better-paying and safer, but the wealthiest townie—my family aside, the mayor's family aside—is probably no richer than your average citizen in Two. I know the baker's sons, and they can only have the days-old, stale bread and pastries they couldn't sell. Then there's the Seam, where my father was born. I have friends there, and they live in one-bedroom shacks without indoor plumbing, without reliable electricity. Most able-bodied men and women work in the mines, sun-up to sundown, for low wages. They have never seen a good meal in their lives. Almost every child who is age-eligible takes out tesserae for their entire family, because they'll starve otherwise, and it's the ones who take out the most who can least afford to be chosen for the Games. I'm sure you've noticed that practically every tribute we've ever had is weak and malnourished. Now you know why. We don't get your protein-rich diets in Two. We can't afford to spend hours training every day. The Capitol would never turn a blind eye on us if we tried to give our children a better chance in the Games."

Cato doesn't rise to any of my accusations. "I get why your sister could be seen as betraying your District. But betraying your family?"

I scrub the shirt harder. "According to my parents, there are no real Victors in the Games. The Capitol always wins. Mom and Dad were taken unwillingly from their homes so they could kill other children for the Capitol's entertainment. Which they did, because they had to survive. They lost their innocence in the arena, and they lost a great deal of pride and dignity. The Games would have broken them if they didn't have each other—and they weren't supposed to have each other. Only one was supposed to live. My siblings and I are freaks of nature; we should never have been born. Then the Capitol took my older brother, Ash, as soon as they possibly could. And mere weeks after he comes back, Rain goes off to the very place that broke him, so one day she could become a Gamemaker, whose job is to break children just like Ash, just like my mother, just like my father. _That_ was how she betrayed us. Or so I thought until now."

He tosses some pebbles into the water. "So your sister has been in the Capitol for, what, ten years, you said?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Would there be anyone there who could and would help her now?"

I blow a strand of hair from my face. "She's engaged."

"There. Wouldn't her fiance help?"

"Her fiance is Seneca Crane."

Cato blinks. "Oh."

"Yeah. And considering how she must have duped him, gone around his back to help us out, he's probably not feeling very fond of her at the moment." I dunk the shirt into the water to rinse off soap residue.

"I don't think they'll kill her."

I look sharply at him. "Why?"

"The Peacekeeper said they wanted to take you and your brother in as hostages. Well, that's not going to happen now. But your sister is just as much your parents' child as the two of you. I'd wager they'll consider her more useful alive than dead."

"But is being alive better than being dead?" I mutter darkly. "Hostages can be tortured."

"Would you rather her be dead?"

I wring out his shirt a little violently. "I don't know," I whisper. I shake out the shirt. The worst of the stains are gone, but there's still a trace. At least his shirt was already red. The stains aren't too noticeable. "I recommend you let this dry first before putting it back on," I say brusquely, as if we haven't just had a heart-to-heart that I would never have expected to take place this morning, or even an hour ago. "We can lay it out by the fire."

"Sounds good." Cato pulls on his jacket, not bothering to zip it up, and picks up his sword. "We should head back. The others are probably wondering if I've killed you."

I sniff delicately. "As if I'd let you."

Suddenly, his arms are tight around my neck and torso, pressing my back against his chest. Tight, but not strangling. But he could easily choke the life out of me if he wanted to, and we both know it. "Say that again?" he whispers in my ear. "Do you even have a weapon on you right now?" I shake my head. He lets me go. "That's unwise. You should always be armed. I would've thought you'd know better."

I straighten out my clothes, trying not to seem too flustered. I clear my throat. "So where's that sincere apology you mentioned earlier today?"

"Hm. Could've sworn somebody told me to 'keep dreaming.'" But he turns around and looks at me seriously. "I am sorry for hurting you. And for threatening to hurt you. It was a psychological ploy, but it was out of line. I wouldn't have said those things under normal circumstances."

I exhale and nod. "Apology accepted." I bite my lip and extend my hand.

He gazes at it before gripping it tightly. "Allies for real now?"

"Allies for real," I confirm.

Cato drops my hand, and for some reason he looks amused. "I was right, though."

"Right about…?"

"You using your sister to cheat the Games."

Ugh. "That is so not what happened and you know it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm hungry." I stalk away, hearing him chuckle as he follows.

When I step back into camp, I realize that I was right not to worry about helping with hunting. The foragers have a nice pile of edible greens and berries. Ardi and Una have a line of fish. Ced got a few squirrels and Clove some rabbits. But it's Marvel who steals the show.

He speared a goddamn deer.

"Aren't deer kind of big for the arena?" I comment. "The Gamemakers usually stick with small animals."

"Maybe it's a mutt," Thierry suggests. After some consideration, we decide it isn't, and therefore safe to eat. So Vidal, the boy from Ten, starts skinning and prepping the deer while we cook the smaller animals. We set up a few more fires to account for our bounty.

I get another flame going when Thresh comes up and asks, "You all right?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were off with Two for a while. Some people were getting worried."

I lay Cato's shirt flat on the grass beside the new campfire. "You don't trust him?"

"He's a Career."

"My thoughts exactly," I agree, "but that was before. You worked with him, Marvel, and Clove today to get rid of our tails. You know as well as I do that they had the opportunity to join up with the Peacekeepers and take out the rest of us. They killed them instead. I think they've earned a little trust."

Thresh nods in acquiescence. "What about Glimmer?"

"She'll do whatever the other Careers do," I conjecture. "She's not the type to go it alone. Thresh, we can't expend the energy to worry about other tributes. Not with the Capitol looking for us. I understand that it'll take time for us all to completely warm up to each other, but we have to be united if we want any hope of surviving the next two months together."

He agrees, and without another word goes off to see if any more hands are needed for dinner. Soon we're ready to eat, and what I thought was a lot of food actually goes really fast. We only stopped a few times for water breaks and to munch on crackers today, so almost everything we scrounged for dinner is demolished by twenty-four hungry teenagers. It's fine since we're still in the arena, where there's a reasonably steady supply of game and greens. But once we're out of here and digging into our supplies—we can't assume there will be critters to hunt on the outside—we'll need to ration. I eat slowly, savoring every bite, keeping in mind that, depending on how large the arena is, this could be our last good meal.

When everyone's finished, Sergeant Cato works out the watch rotation. The twelve- and thirteen-year-olds are excused, but there are still nineteen of us who can keep guard. Only eight of us will take shifts each night, to ensure there are always plenty of people with a full night's sleep. Every two hours, the two sentinels will switch. We pack up most of the camp so that we're ready to move at a moment's notice if whoever is on watch spies something alarming.

I don't have a shift tonight, so I crawl into my sleeping bag, beside Cedric's. My brother is examining the GPS and the map. "Don't let that run out of batteries."

"It's nuclear-powered. I'll be a hundred by the time it dies."

"Whatcha looking at?"

He points on the map. District 12. "Home is going to be directly in our path on the way to Thirteen."

I sit up. "Ced, you know we can't go. They'll be expecting us to go to Twelve."

Cedric sulks. "I wanna go home."

"Oh...c'mere." I hold him close. "We all want to go home, Ced. And we will, one day, when it's safe. Besides, Mom, Dad, and Summer are in Thirteen. Don't you want to be where they are?"

"Yeah…"

"They would want us to be careful. Sneaking into Twelve is too risky. You understand that, don't you?"

"I guess."

"Good boy." I kiss his forehead. "Now go to sleep. We have another long day ahead of us."

**So that additional note I promised. Again, I am squeal-out-loud happy by how much I've been communicating with readers since I put up the last chapter. If this chapter gets a similar response to the previous one, I will most definitely be updating again before Christmas.**

**Now, a holiday present to my readers, and perhaps a little incentive for you all to review. ;) If by the time I publish the next chapter, the total reviews on this entire fic reach 20 (we're currently at 13), I will randomly select one of the people who review between now and then and, based on a prompt of his/her choosing, write a one-shot taking place in the Sweetest Mockery universe. (The more you review, the better your chance of being selected!) The prompt can be about almost anything and anyone you want, even something AU within this already AU universe (limitations will be clarified to the selected reviewer). You will have to be signed in to be eligible. I would also like to selfishly request that reviews say something beyond "update soon," because I like it when readers tell me what they like and don't like, what they're looking forward to, and what their theories are.**

**Please review (thus entering yourself for the chance to direct a one-shot), and see you all soon!**


	8. Chapter 8

**So this was supposed to be posted yesterday, but my car decided cruising along the highway was a good time to hemorrhage…**

**In other news, I have survived finals, hurray! Also we hit—and exceeded—the 20 review mark! Double hurray! Thank you so much to all the reviewers: ProudAthena13, Arianna Le Fay, dleshae, mayhem . for . breakfast, FAIRY WITH FANGS, Son Yume, Ro-Lee, and ForeverTeamEdward13.**

* * *

**I am an author of my word. The randomly chosen winner of the oneshot contest is Arianna Le Fay! I will hopefully be posting the oneshot based on their prompt around Christmas, so keep an eye out for that. Further announcements at the end.**

**Enjoy the (obscenely long) chapter!**

* * *

Eight:

The good news is we reach the edge of the arena the next day. The force field must have gone down with Rain's great hacking-palooza yesterday, so we don't need to worry about that. Cedric does seem mildly disappointed he won't get a chance to blow it up, though.

The bad news is we have to cross a river.

"Why even bother with a force field if they had this already," I grouse. "I suppose it's too much to hope there's a bridge further down."

"The river can't go all the way around the arena," Cedric quips, staring apprehensively at the water. "There's gotta be a way to cross somewhere."

Cato and I exchange glances. "We don't have time," he says. He's right. Soon, the Capitol will realize the Peacekeepers they sent aren't coming back. They may have realized already.

"Should a few people scout a better place to cross?" I suggest.

"I think here is as good as it's going to get."

Probably right, again. I can easily see the other side of the river, and the distance isn't too challenging a swim. But the current is strong and could easily sweep one of the smaller kids away. It could sweep _me_ away. At least the speed of the current means it can't be too deep.

"We should get a rope across," says Finch, the red-haired girl from Five. "That'll help with the crossing."

"How are we going to do that?" I ask. "I don't suppose one of the tributes from Ten can lasso a tree on the other side."

"The girl from Four has a harpoon."

_Ah._

We find Una, and she comes forward to take a look at the problem. "Harpoon cable should be long enough. That tree there, right?" At our affirmation, she takes aim and fires. The harpoon sinks deep into the tree on the other side. Una looks pleased with herself.

"The cable doesn't look too sturdy," I observe.

"We can reinforce it," Finch suggests. "Someone goes across first with extra rope, winds it around the cable, ties it around the tree trunk."

"I'll do it!" Ardi volunteers eagerly. "I'm a great swimmer, and I'm fast."

"You're too small," Cato tells him bluntly.

"I swim in the ocean all the time. This is just a river."

"_I'll_ do it," Una says. Ardi looks upset, but his District partner doesn't budge. She takes two ropes, the longest we have, and wades into the river. She winds the ropes with the cable, almost as if she's making a giant braid. Una looks just as sure of herself in the river as she does on land, so I don't worry until the water reaches her waist. At that point, she has to start fighting the current, and now she only has one hand to braid the ropes because the other is clinging to the cable for support.

"Someone should help her," I say, pulling off my backpack.

Cato holds out his hand. "Wait. Watch."

Una swings herself up so she's sitting on the cable. I fret that her weight will make it snap, but it holds. Slowly but surely, she crosses to the other side, and I exhale audibly when she wades to the bank and wraps the end of the ropes around the tree.

"Unfortunately," Cato says, "we still don't know how deep the river is, because she stopped and climbed up before she was halfway across."

Right. I eye Ced uneasily. I don't want him trying to ford the water himself. Or Rue, or Ardi, or any of the other kids who are almost as small as them. "We also need to figure out how to get the supplies there."

Lothar, one of the older kids who have been inconspicuously eavesdropping on Cato and me, bounds forward. "The sled floats. I mean, not now, since it's full. But it can still hold some things and remain afloat, and several people can guide it across."

"And there are nets!" Ardi points out. "We can use them to haul the rest of the supplies."

"Will the sled be able to withstand the current?" I ask Lothar.

He huffs. "I helped make it. Of course it will."

Superb. One less thing to worry about. "Anyone under five feet, find a friend for the crossing. Preferably someone over six feet." The small kids end up being Ced, Rue, Ardi, and poor Jaxon, who's fourteen but unfortunately short. On the other end of the spectrum, our biggest guys are Cato, Marvel, Thresh, and Duff, a soft-spoken boy from Eight. "Anyone else who's worried about crossing alone, I recommend you be part of the group escorting the sled and supplies, so you have something extra to hang on to."

Rue immediately flits over to Thresh, naturally. Marvel, the second tallest after Thresh, sensibly takes Jaxon, who's the tallest of the shorties. Ardi refuses to even look Cato's way, eyes timidly averted, as he beelines for Duff.

Cedric peers up at Cato, who peers right back down at him. "Don't let me drown," my brother orders, his nervousness audible.

"Yes, sir," Cato drawls.

Bartel volunteers to make the first solo crossing, to test the depth and stability of the river floor. He's only a little taller than me, but as a lumberjack-in-the-making from Seven, he's sturdily built. As he wades in, everyone else begins unpacking the sled, removing the objects that will float and wrapping what absolutely must be kept dry in tarps. Cato and I watch carefully as Bartel wades deeper and deeper, clutching the cable. A little before halfway, he begins treading water. The cable stretches a foot over the surface, and he clings to it to keep his head above water. The current batters him, but Bartel clenches his jaw as he resolutely trudges on. Finally, he reaches the other side, and Una helps him onto dry land.

"Anyone my height or taller should be fine," I comment.

"If they're strong enough," Cato counters. "He's only an inch taller than the kid from Three, but Bartel is much stronger and more solid."

Point. "We should get the sled and supplies across first. Like I said earlier, anyone who doesn't think they'll be okay crossing alone should be with this group."

Of all those without a crossing buddy, Jean is the smallest. Once we push the sled into the shallows, we strap her on top, snug in between the few supplies we left on it. I loop her belt around the cable and instruct her to slip her hand in. "You're responsible for making sure the sled doesn't drift away," I tell her. "Whatever you do, do _not_ let go of this belt." She nods vehemently, tightening her grip. The kids escorting the sled push off from the shore. The current ravages the group, trying to pull the sled downriver, but Jean hangs on and the sled helps the others from being swept away.

As soon as the sled group reaches the shallows, I send off the group with the nets of supplies. My idea with the belt catches on, and several of them use theirs to secure corners of the nets to the cable. Crates, tents, and everything else that can float bob alongside them. "As soon as they get there," I say, "the crossing pairs should go."

"Em, what about you?" Cedric protests.

"I'll be behind you," I promise. "Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself, and keep the map and GPS dry."

Duff and Ardi are the first crossing buddies to go. Ardi piggybacks on the bigger boy, who uses both their belts as hand loops for the cable. When they're a few yards in, Marvel and Jaxon follow, then Thresh and Rue.

"Alright, get up, kid," Cato tells Ced, crouching so he can climb on. Cedric shoots me another worried look as he clambers up, arms wrapped around Cato's neck as tightly as he can without choking him and clinging to the older boy's back like an oversized burr.

"Are you sure you don't want to go first?" Ced tries asking me again.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." I smile reassuringly at my brother. "Just be the smart boy you are and don't cause any trouble during the crossing. And if Cato asks you to do something, do it." I peck him on the cheek.

Before I can step back, Cato turns and murmurs, "Do I get one?"

I gape at him. He wants...a kiss? Really? Right now? From _me?_ "Only if you bring Ced across safe and sound," I manage.

"It's a deal." He wades into the water. Like Marvel and Thresh, he doesn't bother with belts, and the three of them are strong enough that I don't insist on it. I clasp my hands tightly as I watch Cato and Ced get deeper. Cato treads a little at the deepest part, but his and Cedric's heads are still well over the surface. I don't think their hair is even wet. I can't see their faces from behind, but I notice Cato turning his head. He must be telling Cedric to do something, because I see my brother carefully shifting his position on Cato's back.

I don't breathe again until the water is chest-level with Cato, and Cedric has less of a stranglehold around his neck.

"Alright, looks like it's just us," Clove announces. She, Glimmer, Lothar, Vidal, and myself are the only ones left on this side of the river. Clove removes her belt, loops it around the cable, and takes off. Glimmer doesn't spare the rest of us another glance before following suit. Lothar hesitates, eyeing me uncertainly, but when I gesture for him to go, he readily does so.

Vidal, on the other hand, is a tad more stubborn. "Ladies first."

I sigh. Usually, I appreciate a good show of chivalry, but not when we're trying to swiftly cross a coursing river and can't waste time squabbling over manners. "Vidal, your foot."

"My arms are fine."

"Yes, but you're more likely to lose your footing than I am. If I follow you, I can see if you need help. Go on." I practically have to push him into the water. When he realizes I'm immoveable, he reluctantly forges on.

Though Clove is relatively small, she is clearly a strong swimmer and makes it across without a problem. Glimmer similarly has no issues. Lothar reaches the shallows on the other side, and Vidal is just ahead of me in the middle of the river when we hear the explosion. I crane my neck and spot a column of smoke rising over the forest behind us.

"What was that?" Vidal asks.

My gut is roiling with dread. "I don't know. Keep going."

Moments later, the mutts arrive.

They tear out of the forest and growl when they spot us. Four or five of them, nightmarish and bastardized versions of wolves, slobbering and howling for blood. They're enormous. I think they might be the same size as Thresh.

"_Move!_" I yell, and Vidal picks up the pace. _Please don't let the mutts know how to swim, please don't let the mutts know how to swim…_

They jump into the water.

It's at this opportune moment that Vidal's foot gives way, and he lurches into the water. I grab his arm. "We're almost there, come on!"

"Where's my bow?" I hear Cedric wail as I _pushpushpush_ Vidal forward. I see Clove whipping her arm, and one of the mutts, the closest one, whines as her knife connects lethally. She launches another one, but her targeted mutt twists in the water so the blade only hits its flank.

My foot touches the river floor. I haul Vidal with me up the shallows. But he stumbles, and a mutt latches onto his bad leg. He screams in agony as Cato lunges forward and swings his sword, severing the mutt's head. Vidal is gasping in pain, and Lothar rushes over to help me support him.

Cato has moved on to the next mutt, and Marvel charges with his spear. Clove slices the air with her knives, grim satisfaction lighting up her face. Glimmer pulls a machete, and Thresh leaps in with his sickle. Most of the other kids have run up the slope for cover, but a few, like Bartel and Susanna, position themselves between the younger tributes and the fray. Cedric has found his bow and is covering the Careers and Thresh from higher up. He shoots a mutt in the snout before it can take a chunk out of Marvel's shoulder, and the boy from One quickly takes out the beast.

Lothar and I drag Vidal up the hill. "Anyone have first aid?" I demand, trying not to panic at the sight of Vidal's mangled calf.

"It's on the sled," Rue responds, eyes wide.

I twist around to see how the fight is going. They've cornered the last mutt, and none of our friends look the worse for wear. I look back at the blood spattering Vidal's pants leg, and I judge the need for first aid urgent enough to run out now. "Be right back." I slide down the slope and dash to the half-packed sled. One of the medical bins sits on top of the mound. As I reach for it, I hear a growl behind me.

One last mutt, one that we all missed, bares its teeth. I scream before throwing myself to the side. It lunges and pins me down with a massive paw. Snarling, it leans in, panting, and I get a face full of its rancid breath. Just as it's about to make me its lunch, there's a thud sound. The mutt's eyes darken, and it collapses on top of me. Dead.

"Ugh!" It's heavy. I first try to throw it off, then I try to wriggle out from underneath its corpse, but to no avail. Great. I'm going to suffocate. What a way to go.

Abruptly, its weight is lifted, and I watch its body roll off to the side. An arrow sticks out of its skull. I sit up, shaken. Cato, who pushed the mutt's corpse off me, helps me to my feet. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he demands. "Running straight into danger like that, not even armed? Didn't I tell you it's idiotic not to have a weapon on you at all times?"

My anger flares, and I stop trembling. "I didn't know it was there!" I snap back. "I thought you guys had the last one."

"You're lucky your brother shot it, or you'd be dead," Cato spits, then turns to glare at the kids hiding among the trees on the hill. "Get back out here! We have shit to do before we can move on."

I fume as he stalks away. I almost die, and he _yells_ at me? Who does he think he is? I barely have the presence of mind to remember to grab the cursed medical bin, and a canteen of water, and lug them with me back uphill. Lothar hasn't moved Vidal, for fear of exacerbating his injury. My stomach turns at the sight of his leg, but I force it to cooperate. If only I had taken more first aid lessons from Mrs. Everdeen.

"I can do that." Finch, from Five, offers.

"You know what to do?" I ask, already moving aside for her.

"Yup." She doesn't clarify, just starts cleaning the wound. I watch her for a few moments, marveling at how fast her hands are working. "I can handle this myself. You two can do something else."

"If you're sure." I place my hand on her shoulder. "Thanks, Finch." She bobs her head and continues to work. "Alright, Lothar, let's see if they need help packing."

Cedric is waiting for me as we descend the slope. "Em, are you okay?"

"Yes, thanks to you." I hug him. "Thank you, Ced. I would've died if it weren't for you."

"I heard you scream, and I just...I reacted." Ced is clutching an arrow. I see the tip is encrusted with blood. It must be the one from the mutt's corpse.

"Thank goodness for your fast reflexes, then. Are you fine?"

"Yeah." Then he punches my arm. "You lied! You said you would be right behind me! You weren't! Liar!"

I can't help laughing as I rub where his fist connected. "I said _behind_ you, not _right_ behind you."

"You suck!" Cedric walks off in a huff.

Speaking of mutts' corpses. The ones that were killed deeper in the river have been washed away, but some are festering in the shallows and on the ground. Part of me wants to say good riddance and let the vultures and maggots and worms have at them, but I know the ones still in the water should at least be moved, lest the bodies pollute what may be our only drinking source. Thresh moves to stand beside me. I tell him my thoughts, he nods, and we begin to pull the mutts out of the shallows.

Where did the mutts come from? Did the explosion right before their appearance have something to do with it? Did their cage or pen or whatever malfunction and let them escape, or were they set loose? If the latter, were they freed with the intention of hunting us?

"I want to get far away from this arena," I say aloud. "ASAP."

"Agreed." We only move the corpses a little farther up the bank. They're not worth any more effort than that.

When we finish, I search for Cedric, who's examining the GPS and map, which miraculously escaped getting wet. I think he's forgotten his anger at me, because he motions for me to join him. "Now that we're out of the arena, I figured we should start thinking about where in Panem we actually are." He points at the map. "We're almost due north of the Capitol. If we go south, we'll hit District 2. If we go east, District 5."

"Don't we want to avoid the Districts, Ced?"

"Yeah, but here's the thing. Look." He points at District 12. "This entire region is Twelve. But we both know that the town, the mines, and the Seam definitely don't take up this whole place. The boundaries drawn on this map are almost arbitrary. They're where the Capitol says the lines between Districts are drawn, not where the people in the Districts actually live. See, even though it would only take a few days for us to cross into what's technically Two's territory, it'd take even longer for us to reach an actual populated area. It's like how _we_ don't really consider beyond the fence to be Twelve, but the Capitol does, even though they don't patrol it."

Huh. I wonder why the Capitol lets so much of that space sit there, untouched and unused. "So what route are you recommending?"

"East into unpopulated Five territory. We'll eventually pass back into the wilderness again, and then we might cut through the northeastern corner of Ten. Then we'll hit this cluster of lakes near Eleven and Twelve. Ideally we'd find a boat or raft to get across, but we might just end up circling around the lakes into District land. Unpopulated, of course. Then we cut through the edge of Twelve, and ta-da, Thirteen."

He makes it sound so easy. It looks like nothing on the map, just a few inches separating us from our destination. The reality is much harder. "Good job, Ced."

It takes a bunch of us to push and pull the sled up the slope. Finch is waiting with Vidal, who looks better but very pale.

"Can he walk?" I ask Finch quietly. She shakes her head no. "We'll have to put him on the sled, then."

The four kids on sled duty are disgruntled by the extra weight, even after redistributing some of the supplies among the rest of us, but there's nothing we can do. I refuse to leave anyone behind, and Vidal is too big to be carried by a single person. Finally, we're on the move once more, and again I'm at the front with Cedric. But this time, it's Thresh beside us.

"Where's Cato?" I ask him.

"Covering the rear."

I am not offended. I am not.

Our trek is dull and uneventful, just the way I like it. After a few hours, with a short break somewhere in the middle, it's my turn to help with the sled. Kit, Finch's District partner, eagerly swaps places with me. Unfortunately, he's one of the pushers, which puts me in an uncomfortable proximity with Cato, who evidently took his turn with the sled earlier and is back on rear duty. I determinedly don't look at him. Finch is my fellow pusher, and I easily work out a rhythm with her and the two pullers. "How are you doing, Vidal?" I grunt.

"Still alive," he says weakly, but not frighteningly so. There's a small stash of chocolate among the supplies, and Finch recommended he have a few pieces to help compensate for the blood loss. It seems to have worked. The problem is now all the younger kids want chocolate, so I had to hide it beneath the canned vegetables. "Sorry to be such a burden."

Before I can respond, Glimmer, who's also at the rear, mutters, "Should've just left him back there." Vidal winces.

I glare at her over my shoulder. "Excuse you." I can't believe I stood up for her to Cato last night.

Speaking of whom, even though I kind of wish I could see his expression—so I can judge whether or not he agrees with Glimmer—I still refuse to look at him, Mr. I'll-Shout-in-Your-Face-After-You-Almost-Died-a-Grisly-Death.

Glimmer sneers back. "He can't push or pull the sled. He can't guard the group. He can't carry any supplies. As a matter of fact, he _adds_ to the supplies. Are we supposed to lug him along on the sled for two months? He can't even walk anymore, which makes even the twelve-year-olds less burdensome than him."

To be honest, Glimmer brings up fair points, but it's the way she delivers them, with scorn and little regard for Vidal's feelings, that makes me seethe.

I'm silent, and Glimmer takes it to mean she wins. "See, Cato, even she can't come up with anything—"

I say abruptly, "Hey, Vidal, you butchered that deer yesterday, right?"

Vidal is jolted out of his melancholy. "Um, yes?"

"Where'd you learn how to do that? I know how to skin smaller animals, but nothing huge like a deer."

"I work in a slaughterhouse in Ten. I've butchered hundreds of cows in my lifetime. I just took what I knew and applied it to the deer, with a few tweaks. They're similar enough."

"Well, this part of Panem is supposed to have plenty of big game, so we'll be counting on you to prep our food." Wow, pushing is tiring, and I haven't even been doing it for long. I strengthen my resolve. "If you're a butcher, then you must be good with knives."

"Oh, yeah. I can't throw them like Clove, but I know how to find joints and tendons and such, and the best places to, uh, chop." He does a little hand motion.

"On people?" I query.

"Yes…"

"People aren't cows."

"We're all sacks of meat and blood and bones, when it comes down to it," Vidal states, shrugging. "We aren't that different."

Lovely. Glimmer hasn't spoken, so I silently, gleefully claim victory. But at this point, I care less about our argument and more about hearing what Vidal's life at home is like. I usually don't hear much about District 10. "What else do you do in Ten?"

"I'm not a herder, but I love riding horses."

"But...your foot?"

"Yeah, that used to be a problem. But my best friend makes saddles, and he designed one for me to compensate for my bad leg. Have you ever ridden a horse, Ember?"

"This year at the Opening Ceremonies was the first time I ever came within ten feet of a horse."

"Shame. It's the best feeling in the world. Horse between your legs, racing across the plains, wind in your face. If you ever come to Ten, I'll take you out on horseback on the prairie. Well, that is…" We reach the same thought at the same time. That's assuming if there will still be a Ten for us to go to.

Assuming the rebellion goes well.

Assuming we survive this journey to Thirteen first.

Lots of assumptions.

I look left at Finch. "What do you guys do in Five?"

"We're the Power District," she deadpans.

"Okay, I know _that _much," I say wryly. "What do you do in particular?"

"I go to school."

Sigh. She's going to make me work for answers, isn't she? "What do you study?"

"My specialty is chemistry."

Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. "What's that like?"

"I hate it."

I spoke too soon. "Then what do you like doing?" Finch nods at Vidal. "Healing?"

"First aid," she corrects me.

"Where did you learn to do that, anyway?"

"Textbooks."

Wow. She's like a combination of Cedric and Prim. But much less talkative. "That's impressive. Are you always this loquacious?"

A ghost of a smile tickles her lips. "I'll talk to you more when I like you more."

Maybe I should be offended, but it feels less like an insult and more like a statement of fact. I grin back. "Challenge accepted."

Finch looks at me as if she expects me to go on another tangent, but I keep my lips zipped. When I have something I want to say to her, I'll say it. She catches on fast, and her ghost smile because a little more alive.

When we stop at dusk, I join the hunting party this time, with my blowgun. We've left the river behind us, so Ardi and Una can't fish. I'm more concerned about what we'll do for water now. Hopefully there will be streams ahead, but as with food, I fear water will have to be rationed. As Ced, Marvel, Clove and I leave, Thierry is giving instructions on how to dig a fire pit that will hide the smoke. The Capitol is surely searching for us now, and a trail of smoke in the nighttime is a veritable beacon in the darkness.

"We should split into pa—" I begin.

"I don't need a babysitter," Clove interrupts, and she stalks off by herself.

"Eh, she'll be fine." Marvel shrugs. "Let's go this way?"

Cedric kills a bird almost right off the bat. Then two. Then three. After the third drops dead, the rest of the flock realizes the imminent danger and rushes away. Upon closer look, I see that they're pheasants. "Geeze, Ced!" Has he always been this good? He puts even Katniss to shame.

"He was like this yesterday, too," Marvel quips. "Never saw anyone get so many squirrels that fast. It's like they walk right into his hands."

"I see a rabbit!" Cedric whispers, and he tiptoes ahead, leaving Marvel and me to collect his kills.

"So, uh, Ember," Marvel begins, picking up a pheasant.

I eye him warily. "That's my name."

"Yes, it is. Speaking of names, you wouldn't happen to know the name of the redhead from Five, would you?"

Whoa there. I stop what I'm doing so I can stare at him. Does he like Finch? Has he ever even spoken to her before? Or it might just be that Marvel thinks she's cute. That's usually reason enough to crush on someone. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just trying to get to know my fellow traveling companions."

I narrow my eyes. "You could ask her yourself."

"She always seems to vanish when I come close. I figure using her name instead of 'Five' will more effectively get her attention."

Huh. Well, there's no real reason for me _not_ to tell him Finch's name. It's not like it's a secret; they broadcasted every tribute's personal info during the Reapings, training, and the interviews. It's his fault if he didn't pay attention before. And it's not like Marvel knowing her name will create a cataclysmic shift in the universe.

But it might be fun to mess around with Marvel. Also, I'm no closer to confirming or disproving my theory that Marvel is actually pretty smart, and he just acts like he isn't. Finch radiates the vibe that she's freakishly intelligent, and judging by how reserved she behaves, she probably has no patience for people she deems unintelligent. She won't give Stupid Marvel the time of day (maybe that's why she "vanishes" whenever he approaches), but Smart Marvel? It'll be entertaining to see the lengths he resorts to.

"Foxface."

Marvel blinks. "Foxface?"

"That's her name."

He wrinkles his nose. "No it's not."

"Yeah, you're right, it isn't. You know how you can find out her real name? By asking her."

"Ugh. You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope."

"Well, fine. Then…I won't tell you a secret I know about Cato."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "And how would you know any of his secrets? You only met him a few days ago, same as everyone else."

"Well, you in particular came up quite a bit in conversation back at the Tribute Center."

Do I really want to know what kinds of things about me Cato and Marvel talked about? Considering they're both teenaged boys, probably not. "Did you two have these heart-to-hearts quite frequently?"

"Eh. I mean, we all hung out together, the two of us and Glimmer and Clove, but there are some things you just don't talk about with girls." He winks. I roll my eyes. "And none of the other tributes really talked to us, so sometimes it was just Cato and me."

"Maybe they didn't talk to you because they knew you guys wanted to kill them?"

"Bingo, Girl on Fire." His expression becomes uncharacteristically serious. "Are you trying to get me to apologize for that?"

I think about the apology Cato gave yesterday, and the one I elicited from him after that. He offered the first apology because I didn't trust him, and we needed me to trust him. My trust in Marvel is not an issue right now—just as I came to believe that Cato is no longer a danger to everyone else, now that the Games are no more, so do I believe that Marvel isn't going to be shish-kebabing any other kids.

Cato gave the second apology because he sincerely wanted my forgiveness for his ugly threats and rude manhandling. As far as I'm aware, Marvel hasn't been throwing me around in elevators or asking me if I'm a screamer.

"No, I don't want an apology," I say truthfully. "Obviously, I didn't like or trust you before, at the Tribute Center. You know how the rest of us view Careers. But the problem wasn't you, or Cato, or Clove or Glimmer. It's always been the Capitol that's made us turn on each other. Who you were in the Games—or when you thought you would be in the Games—isn't necessarily who you are outside of them. And I'm fine with non-Games Marvel."

He looks stunned at first, but soon enough he's smiling that trademark goofy Marvel smile. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself, Girl on Fire."

We share a moment of happily companionable silence. But my curiosity gets the better of me. "So that secret of Cato's…"

"Stays a secret until you fulfill your end of the bargain."

Before I can respond, Cedric tumbles back into view. "Hurry up, slowpokes! There are a bunch of rabbits that need picking up!"

When we eventually meet back up with Clove, our combined kills, though not the feast we had last night, are plenty to satisfy everyone's bellies. Thierry has constructed two of his smoke-concealing fire pits, and we cook our dinner over them. After we finish stuffing our faces, we settle down for the night. I'm one of the two people on the first watch.

The other is Cato.

So not a coincidence. He assigns the stupid shifts. I narrow my eyes at him as everybody else begins to turn down. What does he want? I look away as he turns his head my direction and gaze down at Cedric, my expression softening. He's curled up in his sleeping bag, clutching the cloth bookmark that he brought as his token. Ced used to be attached at the hip with his baby blanket, but it got ruined a few years ago when he spilled one of his science experiments all over it. I don't think I've ever heard Cedric cry so heartbrokenly. But Mom managed to salvage the largest piece and turned it into the worn, faded bookmark in his hand now.

I run my hand through his ratty curls. There are combs and other grooming tools in a special toiletries box (because the Capitol likes tributes to look pretty while they kill each other); I'll have to run one through his hair soon. I'll have to run one through _my_ hair soon. "Goodnight, Cedric."

He mumbles in response. Poor baby. Back home, he can stay up way past midnight, no problem, but all of our walking is exhausting him at the end of each day.

I scooch around so I'm facing our surroundings, my back to the camp. The fire pits emanate sufficient light for me to be able to see the edge of the clearing, so I don't bother with any of the night-vision glasses. I'm more tired than yesterday, since I had a turn with the sled today, but not so fatigued that I can't keep my eyes open. Still, I'll look forward to when the two hours are up. One of the other kids brought a watch as their token, and we use that to time the shifts. Cato has it now, but there's no way I'm going over there to ask him how much time has passed. I'm starting to reminisce about one of my earliest memories, the day Cedric was born, when I hear footsteps behind me. Heart in my throat, I jump up. It's only Cato.

(Psh, _only_ Cato? There's no such thing as _only_ Cato.)

"For your information," I whisper harshly, "I do have a weapon on me this time."

"Is that a threat?" He sounds amused. It irks me.

"Does it need to be?"

He smirks. "You're nowhere near as scary as you think you are."

"Okay, you know what? You can go back to your half of the camp." I jab my finger toward where he came from. "And maybe we can actually, you know, _keep watch?_"

"This is important, Ember. Look, earlier today, we both said some things that shouldn't have been said—"

"'We?' Excuse me, but I think you mean 'you.'"

"The point is," Cato barrels on, seething, "we've had a bad dynamic going on since then, and people have noticed."

A bad dynamic? That's one way to put it. "So we're not each other's favorite person at the moment. What's it to them?"

"We're the ones in charge. When things sour with the leaders, it affects everyone else. We need to work together. So whatever is off between us, we need to fix it now."

_We_ again. I make to kick Cato off his high horse, but the gravity in his expression makes me pause and think. I know that somehow, despite not being the oldest or biggest or strongest or smartest tribute, I am in charge. I didn't want to be, but it comes with the territory when you're the only one with an escape plan.

Cato didn't even want to come with us in the first place. He wanted to stay put in the arena until he and the Careers were picked up and sent to a five-star hotel while the Gamemakers fixed their issues. If I recall correctly, Thresh was the first tribute to approach me when it became clear the Games were having technical difficulties, so by seniority—and sheer size—he ought to be my co-captain.

But he's not. Somehow, it's Cato. Cato is the one who organizes the night watches, who works out the rotations with the sled, who sorts out potential and real threats, like with the Peacekeepers. Our talk last night by the arena's stream comes to mind. And we did function well together when we were trying to figure out how to get everyone across the river today.

Goddammit. We're the parents of the group, aren't we?

"Fine. I'll start." I place my hands on my hips. "I am very pissed about how you raged at me immediately after I was almost eaten by a mutt. It's true, I didn't have a weapon, because I didn't want to be weighed down in the water, so I emptied my pockets. But even if I did have a knife on me, what good would that have done to the mutt? I had zero reaction time, and there were only so many spots on those beasts where a bitty knife could have done critical damage. If I had known there was a mutt hiding, then of course I wouldn't have run out into the open until it was taken care of. But I didn't know, and I wanted to help Vidal as soon as possible. There was no need to bite my head off. The mutt could've done that for you."

"And there's my problem," Cato retorts. "Your need to be such a big goddamn hero, to help everybody, even when they don't ask for it."

"A big—Vidal needed help!"

"Was he dying?"

"Y—" I pause. Finch didn't seem too alarmed when she was working on Vidal's leg. In truth, it was a flesh wound more than anything. "No, but—"

"No. He wasn't. It could have waited, but you didn't, and you almost died trying to be his savior. And even if it had been more serious, there were other people who could have gotten the medical kit."

"So you're saying I should have sent someone else to risk their life instead?"

"Yes," he says seriously, "and I'm going to tell you why, before_ you_ bite my head off. Of all the people in this group, Ember, you are the least expendable. You might not have much information about this rebellion or Thirteen, but you still know more than any of the rest of us, by far. You're the one leading us. You're the one everyone looks up to. You're the one holding the group together. If you had died today, Ember, I guarantee that we would have fallen apart instantly. This group would have splintered, and all the younger kids would have been left behind, your brother included. Yes, you _can_ be the one to run blindly into danger and throw yourself in front of everybody else. But this group needs you to be more than a human shield. We need you to stay alive and guide everyone and keep us all together."

I try to argue. I try to shoot down all his arguments. But I can't. If I die, who would take my place? Surely no one else would volunteer to shoulder the burden of caring for the likes of Ardi or Jean or Thierry. And I'm shuddering just thinking about what if Ced had watched his big sister get chewed up by a mutt, and then not long after be abandoned in the wilderness because no one else wanted him.

Marvel? He would have no reason to stick around for their sakes.

Clove? She would probably think it kinder to put them out of their misery before they starved to death.

Glimmer? After today's episode with Vidal, I'd be a fool to hope for any pity from her towards the kids.

Thresh? He would take Rue, for sure. Maybe some of the younger kids, if he's as compassionate as I hope he is. But everyone else he'd leave to fend for themselves.

Cato?

"What would you have done, if I'd died today?"

"Certainly not what you're hoping," he answers matter-of-factly. "I would have abandoned ship before long and made my own way home. You have to see, Ember, that you're the only reason this group is sticking together and operating as it is. Without you, it's doomed."

I cross my arms. "So what, I put everyone else in the line of fire before me? Isn't a leader supposed to be the one who makes sacrifices?"

"Everyone has to make sacrifices," he counters. "And yes, a leader does take responsibility, but a leader also delegates responsibility. A leader places everyone in the position where they'll most benefit the group. If sending Five or Six to face that mutt today would have made the most use out of them, then so be it." Cato grips my shoulder. "Everything can't always be on you, Ember. You have to accept the fact that you can't do everything. You will have to make hard choices. And there may come a time, if things get worse, when you will have to accept that you can't save everyone. It all comes down to the same thing: you can't do it all alone."

The weight of his hand is forceful, but not to the point it makes me lose my balance and stagger. Rather, it's steady. Firm. Anchoring. Every time I talk to the boy from Two, I realize there is so much more to him than the intimidating, hulking brute that I once thought he was. "But I'm not alone. I have you, don't I?"

He stares. I can see the blueness of his eyes, even with only the dim firelight. I can see his Adam's apple bobbing up, down. I can see emotions flickering across his face so fast, it's as if he never felt them. And then he says, "Yes. You do. You have me."

Cedric snorts quietly in his sleep and rolls over, mumbling incoherently. I realize how fortunate we are to not have woken him, or anyone else, however hushed our argument was. "So," I begin again, "you stop yelling at me for not having a weapon—"

"Only if you actually have a weapon."

"—and I stop trying to 'be a goddamned hero' and 'do everything,' as you say. Though I do think you're not completely right about that, because, I mean, I let you do schedules and rotations, don't I?"

"You would've done those, too, if I hadn't gotten to them first," he shoots back.

"Hypotheticals. So, is that it? Have we missed anything? Is there something between us that's still unsettled?"

Cato starts to shake his head, but pauses. He studies me carefully, deliberately.

I frown. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"Only a bit of mud and grime from getting dunked in the river and hiking through the woods, same as everyone else. No, it's not that. I need to collect from you."

"Collect? Collect what?" I don't remember owing him anything.

He seems a little disappointed. "Something we agreed on right before Cedric and I crossed the river. If you don't recall, then we'll settle another time."

Hm. I promised him something before the crossing. What was it? I visualize the events. Ced was worried about me crossing after him, I told him I'd be fine, he got on Cato's back, I told him to be good and listen to Cato, then Cato said—

Oh.

I eye the Career before me uncertainly. Mom _said_ he was attracted to me, but I didn't really believe her. And someone as seemingly logical and pragmatic as Cato knows that now isn't the best time to be acting on physical attraction, even if people like Marvel apparently still have the capacity to try to flirt with nameless redheads.

Marvel's voice pops into my head. _I won't tell you a secret I know about Cato._ I'm pretty sure this "secret" has something to do with me, since Marvel was so emphatic about how I was a common subject of their conversation. Could the secret be something about Cato's supposed attraction toward me? If it is, it isn't a very well-kept secret, considering my own mother figured it out rather quickly.

Wow. Maybe guys really do talk about their crushes to each other, same as girls.

Nerves flutter in my belly as I contemplate my next move. Whatever I do, it will change the dynamic between Cato and me. If I acquiesce, there will be obvious consequences, which I'm not ready to face at the moment. If I deny him, well, presumably he'll back off—despite everything that happened between us at the Tribute Center, I honestly don't think Cato is the type for sexual harassment under normal circumstances, and he did apologize—but we'll lose some of the recently regained warmth in our relationship.

(And I don't know if I want to deny him.)

Somewhere in the middle, then.

Cato looks as if he's given up on an answer, or at least an answer he'll be happy with. So his eyes widen in surprise when I dart in and chastely kiss his cheek, then just as quickly back away, out of reach.

"That's exactly what I gave Ced," I tell him, trying not to let my tingling lips affect me. "Any more than that, you'll have to earn it."

His eyes darken as he slowly smiles. But instead of stalking towards me like I thought he might, he retreats to his original post at the opposite side of camp. There's a heavy feeling in my chest that I can't identify as I watch him go.

_Good job, Ember,_ I mentally chide myself. _Got yourself entangled in adolescent romance angst and hormonal attraction while you're on the run in the wild. No better time or place for all that nonsense._

Times like these make me wish I had Madge with me—well, not really, because try as Katniss and I might, we just can't get my cousin and the wilderness to mix. But the point is, I've never not had Madge when I needed to talk to someone about boys, and I _really_ need Madge now. Because the truth is, although I'm good at pretending otherwise in public, I actually don't have much experience with boys. (It doesn't help having a father who likes to purposefully remind everyone that yes, he is a Victor, and yes, he has killed people, whenever a boy gets within ten feet of me.)

My unofficial first kiss was Peeta, but that was an accident when we were kids horsing around in his family's bakery. Neither of us talks about it, ever. It doesn't count, and it's best forgotten. Only Madge knows about it, and I swore her to secrecy on the life of her piano.

My official first kiss was Gale, but I also don't like to talk about that because I only kissed him in a bid for petty revenge after Madge and I got into an argument about something neither of us even remembers anymore. Whatever it was, it got me mad enough to purposely seek out Gale, whom I knew Madge liked. Bitchiest move I ever made, never to be repeated.

Then there was Michetto, the middle Mellark son, and the few disastrous weeks of our relationship, which I put an end to not even two months ago. The most we ever did was make out, and every time one of us tried to have a serious conversation, the other would change the subject. Messy, to say the least.

Through it all, Madge has been by my side, to giggle and to commiserate with me about boys. She's always been my better half, and I can count on her to tell me if I'm being irrational, or if something is a bad idea, or if I should take the plunge and go for it. I try to imagine what Madge would tell me about the Cato situation.

_Irrational? Yes, so irrational. Worst thing you could do right now._

_Bad idea? Yes, such a bad idea. You don't need any more complications._

_Go for it? ...Maybe._

By the time Thresh comes to change shifts with me, I still have no clue whatsoever what I'm going to do about Cato.

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**Disclaimer: I sucked at physics in high school. No idea how flotation works.**

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**Response to guest reviewer:**

**FAIRY WITH FANGS: I'm glad you enjoy my story enough to overcome your usual dislike of Cato/OC fics! And I do wish there were more tribute escape stories out there...so here's my contribution, I guess? :)**

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**Wheeeee, thank you so much again to everyone who left reviews. They really helped keep my spirits up during finals week. I wish I could write a oneshot for everyone who reviewed, but alas, I only have so much time… However, that just means I'll be holding another oneshot contest soon. :D **

**There isn't going to be a oneshot contest this time around, but I hope you'll all pleasepleaseplease pretty please review anyway. :3 I love responding to reviewers, and I'd be lying if I said readers' comments don't influence where I take the story, or encourage me to write faster. *hint hint nudge nudge* Also, it'll make me feel better about waiting 3.5 hours for a tow truck yesterday, because I am a derp and I messed up with giving my location to the dispatcher. *shameless guilt tripping***

**Thank you for reading, and until the next (hopefully soon) update!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you very much to ForeverTeamEdward13, dleshae, justsurvivesomehow, Arianne Le Fay, FAIRY WITH FANGS, and Son Yume for reviewing! I'm glad that people were happy with the barely-counts-as-a-kiss kiss last chapter. ^_^**

**News about the "oneshot" at the end!**

**Now, without further ado, I give you...The Awkward Chapter.**

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Nine:

We establish a new world order over breakfast. From now on, Finch is the first person to go to with injuries and other medical concerns. Lothar and Franzi, who built the sled, are responsible for maintaining it during breaks and coming up with ways to improve it when we stop at night. Vidal is officially in charge of food prep, and since he can't walk during the day, he'll take care of any repairs, mendings, and other small tasks that he can work on while sitting in the sled. And so on. Responsibilities are divvied among those with the ability and skill to handle them. The changes go over without any hiccups, and my shoulders feel pounds lighter.

The weight comes crashing back when I spot Cato crouched by the supplies, scowling deeply. "What is it?" I ask, dread already building in my chest.

He points at one of the water canisters. "It was filled up to here last night. Now it's down here." It's a significant difference.

I wasn't the only one who realized water may soon be an issue. At dinner, Cato designated a few bottles as the only ones we were to drink from last night, and he did the same again this morning. All other water containers were not to be touched. Some of the kids thought he was being harsh, but water goes fast out here, divided among twenty-four teenagers who are on the move most of the day. Until we find another source, we're only drinking what must be drunk.

Now, somebody is siphoning water.

"Are you sure it didn't happen while we were eating just now?"

Cato shakes his head. "No one went anywhere near the sled during breakfast. I was watching. And I checked the water last night right before our watch."

"Maybe one of the other people on watch saw someone moving around," I suggest.

We split up and pull aside the other six who had shifts last night. They all claim they didn't see anything. I wonder if one of them might be lying. Maybe they fell asleep and don't want to say. It definitely didn't happen during my shift—

Shit. Actually, it could have. Cato and I were arguing for a while. We may not have noticed someone getting up and sneaking over to the sled. I look at him wearily. "Well, we suck."

"What do you mean?"

"Whoever it was might have taken the water while we were talking last night."

Cato's expression blanks. "Shit. We do suck."

"And since we didn't see anything, there isn't much else we can do. Let's just remind everyone about the rationing, and why we're rationing, when we stop again tonight, and the people on watch can keep a particular eye on the sled."

We pack up camp and head out. As always, I'm at the front with Ced. Unlike yesterday, Cato rejoins us, and all is well in the world again. The kids behind us chatter contentedly, sounding well-rested and fed, but I wonder morbidly how long it will last. I can't believe this is only our third day in a two month-long journey. I take a moment to silently curse whoever didn't send the hovercraft from Thirteen that Dad said might come for us. Upon thinking about Dad, I feel a pang of homesickness. Instinctively, I reach out to stroke Cedric's hair.

He looks up at me. "What is it?"

"Nothing. You're just too adorable." I pinch his cheek. And that's when I realize how clean his face is. Much too clean for him to have just wiped his face with his shirt—it's been scrubbed squeaky clean. But the water thief can't be Cedric. He was practically lying on my feet last night, when Cato and I were fighting. I would have noticed if he'd gotten up. "Ced, how did you wash your face?"

Cato looks over sharply.

Cedric blinks owlishly. "With water?"

"Where did you get the water?"

He turns red. Bright red. Way redder than I've ever seen him. "I can't tell you."

"Ced—"

"I can't! I promised! And it's embarrassing," he moans.

"For you, or for someone else?"

Thanks to his cheeks, I'm discovering entirely new shades of crimson. "Both," Ced mumbles.

Right, then. I look at Cato. "Can you take the GPS for a moment?" He nods. Cedric clutches the device closer, but when Cato raises an eyebrow—really, that's all it takes, I'm envious—my brother relents. "C'mere, Ced." I pull him off to the side so that the rest of the pack can pass us. "Okay," I say quietly. "Tell me what happened."

"I can't," he whines.

"Cedric, Cato explained last night why we're having such a tight grip on the water supply. You're so smart, you know what will happen if we run out. We all suffer. If someone is stealing water, you shouldn't protect them."

He wrings his hands. "But...she didn't want to steal it. She just...had to."

"Cedric," I prod gently, "who is 'she'?"

He looks at me miserably. "Promise you won't get mad at her."

"I can't promise that if I don't know why she took the water without permission. But," I add, seeing him about to shut me down, "if she does have a good reason, I will hear her out, and I promise to react fairly. Is that good enough?"

Cedric anxiously gnaws on his lip. "I guess… I won't tell you what happened. You'll have to ask her for details."

"That's fine."

"And I only took the water from her because she had a bit extra, and she was going to dump it otherwise," he says defensively.

"I understand."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. At last, he confesses, "It was Jean."

Jean? Little Jean from District 8, who's scared of everything? She stole the water? I struggle to reconcile myself with the idea. "Jean," I repeat.

"That's all I'm telling you!" Cedric runs back to the front of the pack.

I follow at a more sedate pace. On my way, I pass the cluster of younger kids. I force myself not to turn and seek out Jean. I need to think. Why would she take water? Was she thirsty? But Cedric said she was planning on dumping the extra. Was she cleaning herself? That would explain Cedric's embarrassment. I feel irritated at this possibility. We need that water for drinking and cooking. We can't all go around having sponge baths. I mean, I feel gross, too, but I'm not planning on washing—because I _can't_—until we find another river, or a pond, or something.

Cedric has snatched back the GPS from Cato and is staring determinedly at the screen, refusing to look at me. Cato eyes me questioningly, and I mouth _later._

We take our noon break, munching on apples since they'll spoil much sooner than the non-perishables, so no point in preserving them. Cato figures it's later. "What did you find out?"

I wipe juice from my mouth. "Ced says he got the water from Jean."

"The pipsqueak from Eight?"

"Don't call her that. Yeah, I couldn't believe it, either." Jean is sitting with Thierry and Marilou, but while the other two are chatting away, she sits hunched over, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm going to talk to her." He starts to follow me. "No, you stay here. You'll frighten the bejeezus out of her."

"Fine." He watches me go, zigzagging around other kids until I'm beside Jean.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" I ask her. Jean pales, but she gets up and walks with me a small distance from the rest of the group. No one pays attention to us except Cato. "Jean, Cedric told me—"

She bursts into tears. I'm taken aback, but instinct kicks in, and I hold her close. She leans in, weeping. "I'm sorry, but I didn't know what else to do!"

"What's wrong?"

Sobs interrupt her every few words, but I eventually get the story out of her. Late yesterday evening, before she went to bed, she went to use the bathroom and saw blood in her underwear. Jean panicked at first, thinking she was dying, but after a few moments, she realized it was probably her first period. Foolishly, she hoped it would go away, and that's why she didn't tell anyone. When she used the bathroom again later that night, she realized there was even more blood. She wanted to clean herself up, so she filled an empty bottle with water so she could sneak away first thing in the morning, since she was afraid to stay out too long alone in the dark. (This all happened during Duff and Thierry's watch, and she claims both had dozed off when she got up. I'll be having words with those two.) Before breakfast started, Jean went off to a secluded spot to try to clean up.

And that's when Cedric, who was looking for his own place to pee, stumbled across her. The poor boy was so bewildered and horrified, he just squeezed his eyes shut and nodded to whatever Jean said and asked.

"Jean, why didn't you tell me this earlier? There were plenty of opportunities after breakfast."

She hiccups. "Because you said everyone should talk to Finch first about medical stuff. But I don't know Finch, I didn't want to tell her."

Right, that did happen. My bad. "From now on, if you feel uncomfortable approaching others, you can still talk to me, even if I tell the group there are other people designated for certain things. Okay?" She sniffs and nods. "Now, uh, I take it you know how periods work?" Another nod. Thank God I don't have to explain _that._

Unfortunately, I know there are no feminine hygiene products among the supplies. There never are. When tributes arrive at the Capitol, the girls are given injections containing some sort of birth control, which is supposed to last several weeks so that we don't have to deal with menstruating during the Games. It's not for our sake they do this, but for the audience. Just as nobody wants to watch tributes use the bathroom, nobody wants to watch girls dealing with their periods. So, no tampons or pads. Jean clearly didn't get one of these injections; I'm guessing the Capitol only gives the shots to girls who have already begun menstruating. I'll need to survey the other younger girls later to see if they might encounter similar problems in the future. Hopefully, any more periods will be kept at bay, what with all the stress and our poor diets.

Not that stress and poor diets are necessarily the lesser of the two evils.

"Let's go back to the others. I'll talk to Finch, and we'll see if we can figure something out to help you, yeah?" Jean is noticeably less unhappy when I sit her back down with Thierry and Marilou. Cato looks like he wants to know what went down between us, but he can wait. I go to Finch first. "What can we do for someone with a period?" I ask without any pleasantries.

She swallows her bite of apple. "We don't have pads. We'd have to make some. Probably reusable ones."

"Why reusable?"

"Where would we dispose of them?" Finch questions. "And we only have so much material. We can't throw it all away."

"How do you propose they be washed?" I counter.

"Ember," Finch says solemnly, "if we don't find another water source soon, we're going to have bigger things to worry about than washing pads."

My throat is already feeling dry. I haven't had any water since this morning. The parchness of my mouth drives home her quiet assertion. "You're right. Can you fix something out of bandages for Jean really quickly? I'm going to see what we can do about finding water."

Finch nods and gets to work. I head for Ced, so we can look at the map for water sources, but Cato intercepts me first. "So why did she take the water?"

I blow a strand of hair away from my face, trying to ignore how greasy it's getting. "For cleaning."

"That's ridiculous. I'm going to talk to her."

I grab his arm to stop him, though we both know he could easily shake me off if he wanted. "She shouldn't have taken it, I know, and I'm not saying she was right, but I understand why she did it."

"Okay. Why did she do it?"

"Her period," I say bluntly.

Cato wrinkles his nose. "Seriously? She's, what, twelve?"

"Thirteen, and either age is plenty old enough. Now, unless you want details, you're going to have to trust me and let this go. She didn't even take that much water, and she won't do it again."

So, like every single man I know when confronted with womanly concerns, Cato readily drops it. "If you're sure. We need to get everyone going again."

"I have to talk to Ced first. I want to see if the GPS or map says there's a river in the vicinity, and I'd like to travel alongside it if possible. We can't count on stumbling across a pond or creek every few days."

I find Ced. He unfolds the map and points. "There is a river to the south. It runs east for a while, and it doesn't get too close to any of the Districts towns or settlements. If we make a small detour, we could probably reach it sometime tomorrow."

"How far out of our way will it take us, if we follow the river instead?"

Ced hums in thought. "Not much at all. The slight inconvenience would definitely be outweighed by having a nearby water source."

I turn to Cato. "I agree with Cedric. I think we should go to the river." Cato does as well. It's settled. We change course.

And when we at last reach the river the next day, the first thing everyone wants to do is bathe. The people look like they might revolt if we say no. Cato seems like he's going to deny them anyway, determined to keep marching. But me? I feel disgusting. Besides, it's close enough to evening that we won't get much more distance behind us, so we might as well stop.

"Don't tell me you enjoy being filthy," I tease him as everyone runs around, trying to set up camp as fast as possible so they can get in the river sooner.

"Of course I don't," he responds. "But aren't you the one who wants to get to Thirteen ASAP? And what about the Capitol? They could sneak up on us while we're all in the water."

I have been feeling a false sense of security lately, from the absence of other human life. Now that Cato brings up the Capitol's pursuit, I wonder, _are_ they still pursuing us? If they really wanted to, they could have captured us all days ago. With their hovercrafts, they can catch up easily, and they have plenty of men to search for us on foot if they don't see us overhead. "Maybe we've been de-prioritized," I muse. "If the rebellion is underway, then the Capitol has other problems on their plate, more important than chasing two dozen teenagers through the wilderness."

Cato grumbles about how he still doesn't like it. I leave him to his sulking so I can hunt, and then, at last, at last, at last, get clean. The boys and girls have split up so we're on different sides of a bend in the river, with foliage conveniently obscuring each group from the other. I kick off my shoes and am about to pull my shirt over my head when I realize not all the girls are in the water. Some of the more self-confident ones have stripped in seconds and are washing themselves unabashedly. Others, Finch and Jean among them, are lingering awkwardly on the shore, still clad in all their clothes. "Is something the matter?" I query.

"No," Finch says tightly, refusing to look at any of the girls already in the river.

Ah. They don't want to get naked in front of everyone. Understandable, since I'm no exhibitionist myself. "Hey. We're all girls. We've seen it all before. No one is judging anyone here. Besides, you don't have to completely strip down if you don't want to." To make my point, I quickly remove the rest of my clothes except my underwear and bra—no one's watching, eyes are politely averted, nothing to be embarrassed about, _totally fine_—and wade in. They'll come in sooner or later. Their desire to be clean will overcome their modesty.

I'm right, of course.

We pass some soap around, and I delight in scrubbing the dirt and sweat off my skin and massaging the oil from my hair. I do enjoy being clean; I'm not a heathen. I feel like a new person, and I'm practically whistling as I pick up my discarded clothes so I can wash them. Afterwards, I don my tank top again, but leave off the rest so they can dry.

"You're going back to camp dressed like that?" Finch asks incredulously.

"Well...yeah. I've gone swimming with friends at home, and this is basically what we girls wear outside the water." I might be showing off a lot more skin than I usually choose to flaunt, but it's not like I'm exposing anything that shouldn't be exposed.

"But...the guys will be at camp."

"And they'll behave themselves, or they'll have me to answer to," I say matter-of-factly. I notice that Finch has washed her clothes, too. If she puts it all back on, she'll be uncomfortable in her wet clothing, but if she's going to be even more uncomfortable _not_ wearing it, then so be it. "You don't have to follow my example. I'm just thinking, we're stuck out here with the same twenty-three other people for the next two months. We gotta let go at some point."

"I don't 'gotta' do anything," Finch grouses. But, with a pained look on her face, she bundles her sodden pants, shirt, and jacket in her arms and doesn't move to put them on top of her underthings. None of the other girls, from Rue to Glimmer, seems to have any reservations to the same degree as Finch, and seeing that the two of us are far from alone in our half-dressed state helps Finch relax. Besides, I wager the guys aren't going to be any more clothed than us—at least, the guys who bothered to wash their clothes.

We return to camp, and I learn that whoever assembled the tribute outfits this year is evidently a boxer person. Beside me, Finch's face is as red as her hair. But I've seen Gale Hawthorne, all three Mellark boys, and Finnick Odair in pretty much just their underwear at some point in my life, so I'm mostly unfazed.

(I notice that Cato has yet to return.)

Cedric is helping Vidal with dinner. I spot a crumpled bundle of clothing near my brother, shake my head, and go sort it out. Cedric waves as I approach, and Vidal smiles politely before returning to his work. I shake out and stretch Ced's clothes flat on the grass, then mine.

"What did you do to your bandages?" Finch asks Vidal, her shrewd eyes narrowed at his less-than-pristine wrappings.

"Um, they got wet."

Finch looks quite unimpressed as she goes to fetch more bandages. I catch Marvel eyeing her legs as she crosses camp. Marvel spots me watching him checking out Finch, and he grins cheekily before returning to whatever task he was working on. He knows her name now, because of my announcement of her promotion to head medic, but I haven't seen him try anything yet. Then again, it's been less than a day. I'm curious to see what'll happen, but I also resolve to give Finch a heads-up if it looks like he'll attempt something too forward.

The last few stragglers stroll back into camp, Cato among them. My face warms a little as I think, _Maybe not quite the same as swimming around with the boys back home._ Gale and the Mellark boys are probably the most attractive guys in Twelve, but growing up with them has made me almost immune to their charms. The greatest reaction even Michetto ever got out of me were a few metaphorical butterflies.

Cato fully-clothed creates a strange, unfamiliar tugging sensation in my belly. Cato in boxers—and still wet from the river—generates enough heat for me to live up to my name. I already know what he looks like shirtless, thanks to when I washed his shirt the other night, but it's different when he's pantsless on top of that.

I sneak a glance and confirm something I've secretly been suspecting for a while: he really doesn't have a single ounce of excess fat. It's either muscle or more muscle. Not even Finnick is that built. The Victor from Four is more the lean muscle kind of guy. Cato is just..._mmffff._ I force my mind away from the topic and focus on taking inventory of the supplies.

Vidal announces that dinner is ready, and he's swarmed by hungry teenagers as he begins to portion out the food. As usual, I take my time getting there so I'm at the end of the line, where I can make sure everyone else gets their fair share first. And as usual, Cedric beelines so he's at the front. Smiling, I shake my head as I watch my brother squabble with Ardi over who gets the first plate.

"What's so funny?"

I turn my head so that Cato, who's right behind me, is just within my line of sight. "I'm amused by how my brother is a bottomless eating machine, yet he's still such a tiny shrimp." Ced is the same height as Rue, a fact I'm sure must drive him to wit's end, considering how it's universally agreed that Rue is like a tiny fairy in stature. "I have no idea where he puts it all, because it definitely isn't going toward his height."

"It's probably going into that oversized brain of his."

"Oversized?" I pretend to be angry on Ced's behalf, but I've come to learn that Cato is almost physically incapable of giving a straightforward compliment or praise. It's just the way he is, I suppose. How frequently was he praised at the Career Academy, if at all? I've heard that the Academy in Two is especially austere and military-like.

"Your brother has a way of looking at you like he knows what you're thinking."

Cedric does? I've never gotten that impression. I know Mom has that "all-knowing gaze," and so does Dad sometimes, when he's not being _too_ Dad. Rain also has it, or at least she did when we were kids. I guess Cedric may be starting to develop "the look" as well. "You don't think that's a good thing, I take it?"

"There are some things in my head that I sincerely hope your little brother doesn't know about."

I have no idea what kind of expression I have on, but it makes Cato crack up. "Do _I_ want to know about the things in your head?" I ask wryly.

He eyes me appraisingly. "Maybe not yet."

Suddenly, the clothes I have on no longer feel as conservative as I thought. And Cato is standing close enough to me that I can feel his body heat. I nibble on my lip, casting my gaze every which way except towards him, and I hastily change the subject. "What do you miss about being at home?" I blurt out.

The rapid change in topic throws him a little. "You mean besides a bed and real food and indoor plumbing?" He stares into the distance as he thinks. "My sister, I suppose."

"Your sister, Vespasia?"

Cato snorts. "God, no, Vespasia hates my guts. I mean my little sister, Laelia."

"She's eight, you said?"

"Yeah. And she thinks she can get away with anything, if she flashes a pretty smile and looks cute." Cato scratches his neck and grins, a touch sheepishly. "She's right. It works best on my father and my brother Tiberius."

I raise my eyebrows. "But it doesn't affect you at all, does it?"

"Not in the least," he says loftily, but the smile playing on his lips tells me otherwise.

I laugh quietly. It's the same with Summer in my family. She's got Dad wrapped around her little pinky. I'm sure it would be the same with Ash, if he weren't the way he is. Cedric, on the other hand, has always found her to be the pest who ousted him from his rightful place as the baby of the family. "There's quite an age difference between her and your older brother, isn't there?"

"Seventeen years. Lae was a surprise. But if I recall correctly, there's a similar age difference between _your_ little sister and older brother."

I nod, a bit sullenly. "The five of us were all born when it suited Snow's purposes." If the ability to choose hadn't been taken from them, I'm sure Mom and Dad wouldn't have started having kids until much later than they actually did—Ash and Rain came when they were only eighteen, and they were terrified by Snow's quiet threats concerning his Victors' ring. And I think they would probably have stopped having kids a little before Summer was born, when they were thirty-four and ready to finish up the Abernathy family, but for Snow's determination to get one last baby Mockingjay before Mom became too old.

In another universe, Ced and I might be Mom and Dad's only kids. A little scary to think about. The five of us siblings have never all been home—home being Mom and Dad's house in Twelve—at the same time, but I can't imagine what it's like not to have a big family.

Cato's stare is hard. "Snow _told_ your parents when to have kids?"

"Whenever the Capitol needed something new and cute to coo over," I say flatly.

"I've never heard of anything like that in Two."

"Well, no one in Two has ever been a co-Victor, or married their co-Victor, or depended on their fabricated romance to survive. And I'm pretty sure Snow just flat-out hates my family."

"Even your sister? The Gamemaker one?"

I scoff. "Oh, I'm sure he _especially_ hates her. Now, at least. I'm not entirely sure how he felt about Rain before this year's Games." Now I'm regretting not paying more attention to Rain's letters and phone calls home all these years. Of course she would never communicate anything obvious, but she, like Mom, is adept at slipping in information between the lines. If Snow hated her, Rain would have managed to get the message across to our parents somehow. I'm the obtuse one in the family.

Thinking about Rain hurts my heart, which is why I've done my best not to do it these last few days.

"You okay?"

I look up at Cato. "I'm still kicking myself for hating Rain."

He looks thoughtful. "So you hated her because you thought she was genuinely siding with the Capitol, despite everything that's happened to your family. Which was exactly the impression she was trying to give to everyone, to the Capitol, to Snow. And if you, her own sister, fell for it, then that means it worked. And because her ruse worked, that's how she's managed to survive all these years in the heart of the Capitol. Your sister probably didn't _want_ you to hate her, but your hatred may have strengthened her act and helped convince people who needed to be convinced. Would you still be kicking yourself if you knew that hating her might have helped her stay alive? Because that is a very real possibility." Those blue eyes look at me steadily; although they're a cool, icy hue, they make me feel warm.

I shake my head slowly. "No. I wouldn't be." I doubt that my resentment towards Rain alone would have kept her safe for so many years in the Capitol. But maybe, as Cato says, it played a part. I'll have to content myself with that thought.

"Uh, do you two want to eat or not?" Vidal holds up the last plates. We're the only ones left in line.

Cato and I take the dishes. When I find a fairly secluded spot in the camp to sit, he joins me. "Are you going to stop wallowing in self-hatred now?" he asks.

"Yes. I am." I pick at a piece of squirrel. "Thanks for that, uh, talk. I really do feel better. This is normally the part where I would hug you, but we're both kind of half-naked right now, so…"

A corner of his mouth quirks as he blatantly rakes his gaze from my head to my toes. "I wouldn't complain."

I make a face at him. "You're incorrigible."

For a few moments, Cato makes me forget. Forget my unjustified hatred toward my sister. Forget that we're a group of kids on the run from the Capitol. Forget that there is no guarantee we'll all make it to District 13.

Forget that while I'm free, the sister who broke me out of the arena is still in the Capitol, and I have no idea how she's doing or if she's even alive.

* * *

The silence is driving her insane. Day in, day out—she doesn't even know when it's nighttime anymore—all she has to keep her company are the sound of her own breathing and the echoes of her feet as she paces (she hasn't resorted to talking to herself, yet). That, and the not-so-hidden cameras that monitor her every move, discomfiting her to the point that she won't even use the bathroom anymore unless it's absolutely necessary. If this paranoia, this unceasing knowledge of being watched, is even a fraction of what the tributes feel in the arena, then she despises her career all the more.

Is this Snow's plan? To drive her mad by trapping her with her dark thoughts and her demons, without him having to lift a finger?

Sometimes, the only way she is sure that she's still alive and not in some kind of purgatory composed of white walls, white floors, white lights, white everything is when one of the Peacekeepers opens the concealed door—its edges are hidden on her side, and it succeeds in making her feel even more trapped—to bring in her meal twice or thrice a day. She tried to keep track of time at first, but they took her watch, everything she had on her, when they put her in here.

They even took… She shakes her head. No point crying over it, she tells herself. Tears won't help her. She'll just have to trust she'll get it back one day.

If Seneca wants to give it back to her, that is.

She stares miserably at her barely touched plate of stew. The food isn't bad—she's quite surprised they're even feeding her, to be honest—but she has no appetite these days, for understandable reasons, she thinks.

But Seneca would want her to eat. So she does.

They manhandled her out of the Gamemaker headquarters almost immediately after she shut down the arena (piercing blue eyes stared at her in shock, uncomprehending as she was "escorted" away), so she has no idea what happened after that. Someone interrogated her in this cell, but they gave away just as little information as she did, which is to say, none at all.

Did Mom and Dad manage to escape with Summer and the other mentors who were in-the-know? Plutarch promised that everyone would be flown out of the Capitol before anyone realized there was even a problem with the Games. All she has is his word that she isn't an orphan.

Did Cinna and Portia keep their heads low, as she begged them, and avoid Snow's suspicion? She wouldn't be able to bear it if they suffered because of her, when they did nothing wrong except be her friend. But in Snow's book, that itself might count as an act of treason nowadays.

Most importantly, are Ember and Cedric alive? Did Ember understand her clues? Did Mom and Dad tell her what to do? Did she and their little brother get the box in the Cornucopia? Have they left the arena yet? Because all of this, _everything,_ was for them, and if she has been arrested for treason, only for them to be killed after all, she thinks she might die of heartbreak.

Might. There is a possibility she will not, because she has something else to live for...if Snow doesn't take it from her as well.

_He won't,_ she tells herself. Snow likes Seneca too much. The president may want to punish her, but surely not at the expense of his current favorite. Although, who knows what kind of poison Snow might be whispering into her fiance's ear?

Perhaps Seneca hates her now. (Her heart clenches.) Perhaps he doesn't understand why she had to do what she did, why she "betrayed" the country, why she lied to him. And honestly, she doesn't know why he _would_ understand. She's lived in the Capitol for ten years. She knows how Capitolites think, how they're raised to think, how they're taught to think. It's not Seneca's fault that this specious, gilded society is all he has ever known. Any attempts she's made in the past to broaden his worldview have been met with mixed success at best, partially due to her reluctance to reveal too much of her hand, partially due to his reluctance to think ill of his homeland, of which he's finally near the top because he's worked so hard for so long.

There is no reason he would understand the reasons behind her actions, and she cannot fault him for it. _Please, please, Seneca, don't hate me. I can't lose you._ Because even if her plan worked, even if she and everyone else in on it did everything right, even if Ember and Cedric made it out, even if Mom and Dad and Summer are on their way to safety, she doesn't want to lose him.

She wonders what he's doing now, her poor, darling, ignorant fiance. Snow would have figured out in moments that Seneca had no idea what she was up to, so there would be no reason to imprison him as well. That means Seneca must be a free man, able to go about his day as he pleases.

The Games are effectively cancelled, if she managed to pull that off properly, so he won't be at work. She doubts he is visiting friends; the two of them, although their jobs require a certain amount of charisma and amiability, especially his as Head Gamemaker, in truth prefer solitude to company. Seneca can make friends as easily as breathing, and when called to task, he can be a showman to rival Caesar Flickerman. But given the choice, he, like her, prefers to stay at home and pursue his personal hobbies and interests.

As for herself, she spent her entire childhood with her life on display, same as everyone else in her family. Seneca's lack of interest in garnering public attention, beyond what is necessary for his career, suits her fine.

That's it, she decides. Seneca must be at home right now, in their penthouse that's spartan by Capitol standards but comfortably furnished according to both their relatively simple tastes. Maybe he's eating his own dinner now—she isn't worried about him feeding himself, he's always been the better cook between the two of them. Maybe he's watching the news, trying to piece together the puzzle she's left behind. Maybe he's reading a book, in a futile effort to distract himself from the conundrum that his life has become. Maybe he's sketching, as he always seems to do when he can get his hand on a drawing implement and a suitable medium (many a high-end restaurant has been chagrined to discover his ink doodles on their fine tablecloths).

Maybe he's standing in the room that they've been redecorating for several weeks, a project that's brought more light and happiness into his eyes than any arena he's helped design. A project that may never be completed. A room that may never be used.

Perhaps he hates her now because of that alone.

And she whispers (because this doesn't count as talking to _herself_), "But not you. He'll never hate you." Then Rain Abernathy lies down on her narrow bed and tries to fall into an uneasy sleep, with her hand splayed protectively over her abdomen.

* * *

**Reply to Guest Reviewer:**

**FAIRY WITH FANGS: I feel like the Cato we see from Katniss's point of view during the Games in canon is Cato at his worst. I would think that District 2, considering they train peacekeepers and have a central military base and such, would have a military-like approach to training Careers. So I'm of the opinion that, given the chance to see Cato function normally, he wouldn't be the completely irrational and anger-driven Career that we see in canon and in fanfics. And oh God yes, Haymitch would have reamed into Ember last chapter. And yes, Ember is going to have to grow up. Of course, she already thinks she's grown up (what teenager doesn't think she/he is already an adult?), and she's rather mature for her age, IMO (living in a dystopian society makes you grow up faster), but she has quite the journey ahead of her, in more than one way. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you for leaving such a thoughtful review!**

* * *

**Oneshot contest news! I've finished writing the oneshot according to the randomly chosen winner's prompt, and...turns out it's 20k words and is going to be a threeshot. Surprise! The prompt, given to me by Arianna Le Fay, essentially was **_**What would happen with Ember and Cato if they'd played in the 74th Hunger Games as planned?**_** So yeah, that little plot bunny took me places.**

**I've posted the first installment of the threeshot. The title is "A Game Played Beautifully by Children," and somehow it ended up being told entirely from Cato's POV. Fair warning, it is quite angsty and sad, but that's mostly in the two later parts. The first part is pretty tolerable and ends on a high note, and the story is written in such a way that if you want, you can stop at the end of part one and pretend the more angsty things following it never happen. :D**

**Again, thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! I love hearing from you guys, and feedback helps me write better and faster. *subtle hint***


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry this took longer than I thought to post. The holidays have been hectic! Also, I saw _Star Wars_ twice, and now I'm Reylo trash. :3**

**Thank you very much to ForeverTeamEdward13, Gigi, Primrose314, dleshae, EisForElephant, Ro-Lee, and my lovely nameless anonymous reviewers. Replies to guest reviewers are at the end.**

* * *

Ten:

The ring taunts him. The way the diamond gaily coruscates is like a mocking laugh, upbraiding him for being so foolish and blind. Seneca watches Snow turn it around in his hand as if admiring it. "A lovely ring," the president comments, "if a bit old-fashioned."

"It was my mother's," Seneca replies by way of explanation. The ring isn't flashy and set with a huge, colorful gemstone as is the current fashion, but he likes the classic and timeless cut, the simple band of rose-gold, the minuscule sapphires elegantly arranged around the centerpiece.

_She_ had liked it, too.

"All the more important I return it to you," Snow says, but he makes no move to hand it over. "I took the liberty of claiming it from its previous owner on your behalf. She neither wanted nor deserved it, as we now know."

_No, she loves me, I know she does,_ Seneca wants to yell, but he bites his tongue. It's become clear over the last few days that he knows nothing at all.

"You have my sympathies, Seneca. Your fiancee maintained the ruse of being an upstanding citizen for years so that she could desecrate the Games, and she tricked you into believing she held affection for you so that she could use your power and influence to carry out her plans. At least her true character was exposed before you sounded the wedding bells."

_She loves me._

(How often must a lie be told before it becomes the truth?)

Snow continues, "I must say, I liked your previous paramour—Drusilla, was it?—a great deal more, and we both know how ill-suited she was for you. And that scandal Miss Drusilla had with those Victors? _Tsk, tsk._ It seems to me, Seneca, that you're simply not meant for anything but the bachelor life."

He isn't meant for anything but life with _her._ Or so he thought.

When the president at last holds out the ring, it takes Seneca a moment to recognize the action, and he accepts the precious item with a mumbled "thank you, sir."

"I will not stop you if, despite my advice, you choose to pursue other relationships in the future," Snow says magnanimously. "But do take care to make sure that anyone else to whom you may give that ring is actually worthy of it."

Seneca feels many things for the president. Respect, fear, intimidation, a desire to please. For the first time, he feels hatred.

"I am sure you are wondering how your ex-fiancee is doing, since we took her in for questioning." Seneca's hands grow clammy. "Rest assured, she has not been harmed."

What? How can that be? Seneca is a Gamemaker, the Head Gamemaker; he knows how cruel the Capitol can be.

Snow's eyes turn even colder. "I demonstrate this kindness to her only because I like and pity you so much, Seneca. And only because you are so certain that the child Miss Abernathy carries is yours."

Seneca can't help thinking about those early mornings, as the rosy hues of sunrise seep through their bedroom window while they laze about in bed before they must get up for work. The light always bathes Rain in an unearthly halo, calling to Seneca's mind the angels that were featured in religions banned long ago. In the last few weeks—before the Games, and everything went to hell—he has taken to skimming his fingers, his lips, the tip of his nose along the gentle, growing curve of her usually flat abdomen. And every morning, though she laughs at him, though they both know it is futile for some time yet, he presses his ear to her belly, as if expecting to hear movement, a heartbeat.

All this, she gave up without a second thought.

His child. His _daughter, _according to the doctors. In the hands of Snow's men, who know that her mother is a traitor to the Capitol. Is Snow truly abstaining from harsher methods of interrogation for his child's sake? The president has proven in the past that something as inconsequential as a pregnancy does not deter him from getting what he wants. And Seneca is sure Snow wants to punish Rain for singlehandedly ruining this year's Games—perhaps even ruining all of Panem as they know it, although such a thought is itself treasonous.

"You _are_ sure it is yours, Seneca?" Snow prods, as he has many times in the last few days.

"Yes, sir. I have no doubt." Indeed, he does not. Seneca may no longer trust Rain, no longer have faith in her loyalties. But he believes in her fidelity to him.

Seneca has known Rain for six years. He was twenty-four and the rookie Gamemaker, and still together with the aforementioned Drusilla. She was sixteen, still in school, and too young and naive and childish for his tastes. As the lowest in the Gamemaker hierarchy, he had been sent to meet Miss Lorraine Abernathy at the academy she attended, to interview and appraise her for potential as a future Gamemaker.

(It turns out that Snow had already decided long before that she would most certainly be one of them, and Seneca was sent as a mere formality.)

For the first few years of their acquaintance, then their friendship—during which Seneca, for many complicated reasons, broke it off with Drusilla, least among them being The Victor Scandal—he appreciated Rain's intelligence, creativity, and ingenuity first and foremost. It was only after she graduated from the academy, officially started apprenticing under him as Gamemaker, and began dating an utter moron who was _far_ beneath her that Seneca had realized that first, Rain was no longer a child, and second, his affections for her ran deeper than he thought.

And it turned out that Rain had been infatuated with him for years already ("I was a teenaged girl. All it takes for a teenaged girl to think herself in love are a pretty face and sweet words. But what really did me in was the day you played my knight in shining armor. Remember that day?"), but had given up on ever catching his eye. Never in the three years they were together had he ever seen her batting an eyelash at another man—she told him she didn't find the artificial fashion of the Capitol attractive, and she thanked God that the most he did was style his beard strangely ("But don't change it just because my sense of style is so passe. It suits you. Very intimidating and fierce.")—and she'd had several opportunities to move on to men wealthier, more powerful than him. Every time, she rejected them immediately and never gave them a second thought.

No, Rain Abernathy has never cheated on him, and her child is undoubtedly his.

_But adolescent puppy crushes aside, not cheating on your partner doesn't necessarily mean you're in love with him, _a dark voice that sounds like Snow's whispers in his mind. _She played you. She used you. You were a tool._

_Rain Abernathy is a traitor._

_ Rain Abernathy is a liar._

_ Rain Abernathy has been acting the upstanding citizen all these years. Why wouldn't she also have been acting the woman in love?_

_ Rain Abernathy chose her siblings over your child._

_ Rain Abernathy loves her family so much, how can there possibly be room in her heart for you?_

"Just as well. I suspect beating Miss Abernathy would not extract any information, nor would any other physical methods," Snow says bluntly. "I pride myself on my ability to determine whether a particular course of action would be wasteful. Torturing Miss Abernathy would be wasteful. Her mental fortitude is, as you know, exceptionally strong. Add to that her motive for her actions—her love for her family—and she will not break. Besides, Plutarch is the one who fled the Capitol, not her, so we know which one of them possesses more information."

In spite of all his doubts concerning her affections for him, Seneca wishes it were Rain who escaped.

"And we still have uses for Miss Abernathy." Snow smiles, without any feeling. "Her mother, father, and youngest sister have fled with Plutarch, along with several other traitorous Victors. I wonder what her parents would do, how they would influence this rebellion, for the sake of their daughter and unborn grandchild. Especially if young Ember and Cedric are dead."

That startles Seneca. "They're dead? The tributes were killed in the arena?" He has never met Rain's younger brother, and he only met Ember that one time, during her illegal conversation with Rain. Ember Abernathy did not leave him with a pleasant impression of her (screaming at her sister for daring to be happy: childish, envious, begrudging), even less so after her training session (burning a dummy clearly meant to be her sister's stand-in: petty, irrational, borderline sociopathic). But Rain adores her younger sister, and his fiancee has spoken with him about Ember the most of all her siblings, even more than her own twin (the alcoholic addict; they'd argued over whether he would be allowed near their daughter after her birth). He gets the impression that, despite the six-year age difference, Rain and Ember were close before the elder came to the Capitol all those years ago, so it bewilders Seneca that Ember is the sibling who most turned against Rain. Hated her, if it is possible for anyone to hate Rain Abernathy.

And yet, despite it all, Rain loves Ember. Rain loves her family.

_There is no room left for you._

"No, they're not dead," Snow answers, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "But they will be."

* * *

The ground trembles beneath our feet, and I fear the worst. The Gamemakers are somehow managing to cause an earthquake this far out. The Capitol is bombing us. The world is ending.

"That's a quarry," Cato says in disbelief.

I look to him. "A quarry? Like where you mine stone?"

"Yeah. We often use controlled explosives to clear away rock we don't want." He's still staring in the direction the great boom came from, and I catch the flash of emotion across his face before he masks it: longing. Homesickness. "We must be close to District 2."

"Ced did say Two was due south of our original route," I muse, "and we have gone south so we can stick with the river."

His gaze snaps toward me. "You knew Two was close by and you didn't tell me?" he demands.

My hackles rise automatically. "Sorry, did I sign some contract obligating me to tell you our precise coordinates? Do I need to look up our longitude and latitude for you?"

Cato glares at me, that homesickness still in his eyes. "You should have told me." Before I can retort, he orders, "Let's keep moving." I seethe, but I can always argue with him later, when everyone isn't watching.

For the rest of the day, I assume Cato is just stewing over not being told every little detail. In some ways, I get why he was upset. I'd want to know if we were near Twelve, and if we are co-leaders, then communication is key. But he definitely overreacted. It's not like I was hiding information that could mean the difference between life and death, or information integral to the group's functioning. Do I really need to tell him _everything? _Like, _Hey, Cato, there's a hill exactly 10.2 miles ahead of us._ Honestly.

As usual, we stop before sunset so we have time to hunt and hunker down before dark. But, unusually, Cato is holstering his firearms, instead of participating in setting up camp.

My brow furrows. "Cato, you're not hunting with us, are you?" Swords aren't conducive to hunting animals, and we agree that the guns should be saved for the most dangerous targets. We also don't want unnecessary gunshots to draw unwanted attention.

"No," he grunts, slinging on a backpack. "I'm going home."

The blood in my veins turns to ice. My voice is pathetically small as it utters, "You're...what?"

"Two is close. I should be able to find a town or other settlement in less than a day, possibly even the one my family lives in. You don't need to worry about me betraying you or whatever. I'll tell them we all split up after escaping the arena, and that I've been on my own."

Don't need to worry about betrayal. What does he call this? "You can't just leave!"

"Who's going to stop me?" Cato raises his eyebrows. "You?"

"_Yes,_" I snarl. I will. I will stop him, the treacherous fuck. I'll make him stay. He's not going to turn his back on us. I won't let him.

He sighs in exasperation, as if _I'm_ the one causing problems, and looks down at me like I'm some silly, gullible child who's throwing a tantrum. "Ember, let's not make this any harder than it has to be, okay? You didn't even want me here in the first place. We've had some surprisingly good times these last few days—"

"'Good times'? Is that what you call it?" I snap. "Fleeing through the wilderness from a Capitol that wants us all dead? That's what you call a _good time?_ We're running for our lives, Cato! District 13 is our only chance. But you're jumping ship all of a sudden?" I don't...I don't get it. I just don't get it. I thought Cato and I, we...we had an agreement, didn't we?

"Ember, I never made any promises to go all the way to Thirteen. I said that I would work with you to help the pack survive. And I've done that. The first few days are always the most difficult, and I've helped you get through them."

I stare at him, then I shake my head slowly. "What a typical Career," I whisper.

Cato's eyes harden. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it's confounded me my whole life, how Careers can act like they're the best of friends at first, but once the going gets tough, it's everyone for themselves."

"I was always planning on heading home once—"

"There! See? Just like a Career. Plotting from the beginning how you're going to pretend to be friends, all the while thinking about how you can best stab the others in the back. Was that what you did, Cato? Set us all up to trust you—remember how you tried so hard to get me to trust you that first day?—so that you can see our faces at the moment we realize you were never really with us, and congratulate yourself for being so much better and cleverer than us. You make me _sick._"

Any vestige of sympathy or patience vanishes from his face. His fist clenches, and I brace myself for the worst. I remember how Dad pointed Cato out during training, said that Cato was the type who, after being in the Games long enough, is bound to _snap_ like a guitar string pulled too tightly_._

Cato doesn't snap.

He smiles. But it's not the smile he gave me when I told him he'd have to earn more kisses, or the smile when I teased him about being incorrigible. (What happened to that boy?) It's mocking, condescending, and more suited to the Career I feared and resented before the Games. The Career I thought would kill me one day. "Ember, did you really think I was going to stick around the entire way? Thirteen is a pipe dream. It's real, but it might as well be in another universe. Face it, there's no way we would make it there on foot. Everyone is better off coming with me to Two, but I know how stubborn you can get, sweetheart."

That last word, that endearment, sets me off. Only Dad is allowed to call me that, not this backstabbing little shit.

Before I know it, I've punched him in the face, clipping him satisfyingly on the jaw. Then, ignoring the fact that Cato outweighs me by about a hundred pounds of pure muscle and could easily snap my neck in my irrational rage, I launch myself at him. A few moments later, Thresh has to drag me bodily off Cato—who refuses to so much as give me the satisfaction of fighting back—kicking and scratching and screaming curses that I'd never use in front of Ced and the other younger kids in my right mind.

_You have me,_ he said. _You have me. _Biggest, fattest lie ever told.

When the red fades from my vision, I can assess with grim satisfaction the damage that I inflicted. Cato's definitely going to have a bruise on that pretty face, to match the angry red lines I gifted him.

I hear Marvel speak. "Cato, man, where is this coming from?"

"What are you talking about, Marvel?"

"You, going to Two. It came out of nowhere."

Cato shrugs, rubbing his jaw. "Not really. I always intended to go to Two, if it were feasible. It's definitely feasible now. If you want, you can come with. I'll vouch for you."

Marvel hesitates, and then he shakes his head. "I'm staying."

"Suit yourself." Cato surveys the other kids, and I realize everyone has been watching our argument and fight. "Anyone else want to come?" Some kids fidget, but no one moves. Cato still scares some of the younger ones, and the older ones know better than to trust him. They were wiser than me in this. Not even Glimmer, when he looks her in the eye, moves to accept. He turns to his District partner. "Clove?"

She stares coolly back at him, face blank. "I'll pass."

"I didn't think your loyalty to this group was stronger than to Two."

"Please, Cato, I'm not in the least bit sentimental," Clove sneers. "There is nothing in Two compelling me to go back. Besides, I have no desire to be shot on sight. You can get executed on your lonesome."

"They won't execute us."

She snorts. "The hovercraft sent a damn strong message. And I think killing a Peacekeeper is punishable by death."

Cato narrows his eyes. "Whatever. It's your choice." He steps back and addresses the group at large. "I wish you all the best of luck in reaching your destination."

I laugh bitterly. That catches his attention. "At least try to sound sincere, _Two._"

His hand twitches. "I am being sincere."

"Right. And I'm sure you're _sincerely_ abandoning us."

Cato looks angry. He has no right to be. None at all. _You have me._ Liar. "I could have split today, right after we heard the rock blasting. But I didn't. I made sure you all found a campsite first."

"Oh, how magnanimous of you! Hey, while you're at it, can you help me get this knife out of my back?" And it isn't one of Clove's.

He runs his hand through his hair, jaw set stubbornly. "I need to talk to you privately, Ember," he says gruffly.

I scoff. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I _need_ to talk to you. I'll even let you get in a few more hits."

Only because I want to punch him again. Maybe break his nose this time. I shake off Thresh's restraining hand. "You have one minute before I let loose." I can feel twenty-two pairs of eyes on our backs as we retreat out of sight and earshot.

Cato rounds on me as soon as he's sure we have privacy. "Ember, I don't want to part on bad terms."

"Bad?" I chuckle mirthlessly. "Cato, this is beyond bad. This is so awful, I'm going to have to create a whole new word. _Cato_strophic? Yes, that sounds fitting."

_You have me._ Lies. Everything he ever said, lies.

"I'm serious, Ember," he snaps. "Don't tell me that if we were near Twelve, you wouldn't want to go home."

"Of course I want to go home!" I hiss. "But I wouldn't, and do you know why? Ced and I would be abandoning everyone else, and I will _never_ abandon anyone who needs me. And let's not forget the fact we'll all be executed if our faces turn up in the Districts. You seem to be disregarding that very important detail, Cato."

He shakes his head. "They won't kill me."

"How do you know?"

Cato stares coolly at me. "My father is a Victor."

"Oh, yeah? So's mine."

"Mine isn't embroiled in a rebellion," he counters. "My father is the most respected Victor in District 2. He practically runs the Academy; he has just as much power as our mayor. Everyone in Two knows it. The Capitol knows it. If they want to keep Two tucked under their wing, then they'll listen to my father when he tells them I have no part in this rebellion."

"Clove seems convinced they'll shoot you on sight."

"Clove doesn't think much of family ties. She believes my father's loyalty to the Capitol will override his relationship to me."

"Are you so sure it won't?" I sneer.

"Very."

I throw my hands in the air. "Fine. Whatever. It's your funeral, literally. When you're dead, I hope you'll be comforted by the bullet in your brain." I turn to go, determined to let him moronically tromp off to his death.

"Come with me."

I must have something in my ears. "What did you say?"

Cato takes a step toward me. "Come with me. You and Cedric. I'll make sure you're both safe in Two, and we'll find out how to get you to your parents some other way, without risking your necks in the wilderness."

Some muttation must have killed Cato and taken on his appearance, because this doesn't sound like the admittedly intelligent brute of a Career I know. "Have you eaten something that's addled your brain? Did you not hear me when I said I won't leave the others?"

"Then convince everyone else to come."

"You're insane. You are. You've gone insane," I sputter. "The whole reason we're in the wilderness right now is to avoid attention. Twenty-four escaped tributes clomping into Two are going to get a hell of a lot of attention. And I'm pretty sure Ced and I are two of the most wanted people in Panem right now. In no possible situation is any of us, least of all Ced and me, going to Two a good idea." Addlepated. Yes, that sounds like a good word to describe Cato right now. That and fucking nuts. "Why would you even suggest as infeasible a plan as this?"

"_Because I want to go home!_" Cato bellows. He lowers his voice, but he speaks no less intensely. "Because I want to go home, but I don't want to leave you, and Cedric, and Marvel, and the others out here."

"Then _stay!_" My voice breaks.

"I can't."

"Why not? Are you so desperate for a shower and a bed and a cooked meal? I didn't take you to be so _weak,_" I growl.

Cato grabs my wrists, but not tightly. "Do you think you're the only one who misses their family?" he demands. "Do you?" I stare at him, unable to speak. "You say you love your family. You say you'd do anything for them, for Cedric. You want to see them again. Do you think I feel any less strongly about my family? Your parents are waiting for you in Thirteen; mine are waiting for me in Two. Tell me, Ember, if it were your parents who were under a day's hike away, would you really pass up the opportunity to go back to them?"

I take a shuddering breath. "That still doesn't explain why you got it in your crazy head to invite the rest of us along," I say lowly, trying not to feel weighed down by the fact that he's not wrong.

Cato exhales. "Fuck," he mutters, and then he slams his mouth down on mine. His lips press hard, taking, demanding, greedy, _wanting._ I'm so shocked, so disoriented, so confused that I have no time to respond—if I even want to—before he pulls away as suddenly as he started. "Because you deserve better than to die in the woods," he rasps. "Your name says it all, Girl on Fire. You should go down burning the world with you."

I'm shaking. I can't contain it. I wrench my wrists out of his grasp and stumble backward. He takes a step forward, but I hold up my hand. "No." _Yes._ "Go." _Stay._

"Ember?"

"Just go." _Just stay._ "That's what you want. Just leave us already, and don't come back. We don't need you. We'll get along fine without you."

"Ember—"

"_GO!_" I point. "Just go already!"_ Go. Stay. Help us. Leave us. I don't care about you anymore. I'll still worry._ I refuse to look at him again, listening for his departing footsteps. But after some time, I don't hear them, so I turn back to yell at him again.

He's gone. No trace of him, as if he were never here.

My eyes burn. No. Stop. I refuse to cry over Cato. My tears are reserved for people I care about.

"Em?"

As if on cue, Cedric shows up a few feet away, hesitant. My baby brother looks so solemn, so sympathetic, so _pitying._ I manage a watery smile. "Hey. What's up?"

"Did he leave?" he asks quietly.

My throat sticks as I nod. "Yeah. He's gone." And I didn't even get a last look. As angry as I am with Cato, I also understand why he's leaving. And I honestly don't know if I wouldn't do the same in his place.

Still...it hurts.

And he just _had_ to fuck everything up even more by assaulting my mouth. (I don't care what anyone says, that was _not_ a kiss.)

"Did he make you cry?" Ced sounds upset, as if he'll go after Cato right now if I answer in the affirmative. Cedric versus Cato. The fight of the century.

I chuckle sadly and tousle his hair. "No boy has ever made me cry, and Cato isn't going to be the first."

"Well...good." Cedric nods to himself. "I wanted to let you know that since Ardi and Una can fish again, you don't need to hunt tonight."

Fantastic. I'd probably miss everything I tried to shoot in my current state. "Sorry I've been gone so long. Is there anything I can help with?"

"We've already got everything taken care of. Just come back and get ready to eat."

The others look at me strangely when I return. A few, namely Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer, look disappointed when they see I'm alone. "You couldn't convince him to stay?" Marvel asks.

I shake my head. "If persuading him to stay was your intention, it shouldn't have been me out there with him."

Marvel sighs. "Believe it or not, out of everyone here, you had the best shot."

Great. Refusing to look at anyone else, I nibble halfheartedly at some fish, not hungry but still determined to finish every bite. When I'm about done, Thresh sits beside me. "We need to set shifts."

I blink at him. "That isn't my forte."

He shrugs. "Someone's gotta do it."

Oh. Right. Cato usually sets the watch. "Okay. Um. First shift, Bartel and Franzi?"

"I had a shift last night," Bartel says.

I try not to bury my face in my hands. I guess we do need Cato, after all. But Thresh helps me figure out who can take a shift tonight, and somehow everything works out. It's still an ordeal that takes way longer than it did when Cato was around. Night falls, and I make to crawl into my sleeping bag, but something resting on top of it stops me.

Cato's sword. I pick it up—God, it's heavy, how does he wear this like it's weightless?—and turn it in my hands, wondering what he means by leaving it here. Just messing with my mind, I suppose. One last attempt at confusing the hell out of me. One last reminder of the boy who abandoned us.

The boy who abandoned me.

* * *

There are minimal supplies in his pack, but they're plenty for the trek to Two. Cato spent the night alone, wishing he'd left in the morning instead. After he left, he didn't get far at all before the darkness forced him to stop. He was still close enough to the others that he could have turned around and gone back to camp. Turned around and had to face everyone's accusing glares. Face Ember Abernathy's snide _I-told-you-so._

No, Cato tells himself. They would be grateful if he came back. Should be.

But the thought of Ember Abernathy's blazing, furious, self-righteous eyes if he comes back with tail between his legs spurs him onward today.

He can still feel the touch of her lips on his, though "touch" makes their kiss sound a lot gentler than it actually was. He didn't even allow her any time to respond, and he's already craving more. But there won't be more. It was impulse that led him to grab her, kiss her. Just once. He needed to know what it was like to taste fire, if only for a few fleeting seconds. And now it's burning him inside-out. He wonders what it would be like to kiss her when she's not steaming mad at him.

Well, it's on her if she was so naive as to think he'd stay and die with the lot of them. Because Cato is convinced they won't make it to Thirteen, and now that he's gone, they've got a snowball's chance in hell.

_But I have you, don't I?_

Cato growls to himself. He should never have told her that. Never told her yes, she does have him. Now she's gone and become disappointed in him. In the beginning, she certainly didn't think highly of him at all—if only it had stayed that way.

(But...no, he doesn't actually want Ember Abernathy to think so lowly of him, as if he's barely human, like she did before she began to chip away at his walls.)

Too late. No turning back. Cato resolutely looks forward and thinks of his family. First to come to mind is little Laelia, his sister, whose last demand before he left for the Games was to buy her a pony with his Victor's winnings. He promised her six and a carriage fit for a princess.

(_"__She thinks she can get away with anything, if she flashes a pretty smile and looks cute."_

_ "But it doesn't affect you at all, does it?"_)

His other siblings he looks less forward to encountering. Vespasia has been unbearable ever since she became engaged to Sergius, the winner of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games, and she persists in shoving the rock on her hand in everyone's faces.

Tiberius will no doubt try to mock him for failing to even play the Games, as if not being selected to volunteer in the first place is any better. His older brother has always been bitter that their own father didn't believe him good enough to win and passed him over as a volunteer.

Attilus Wolfwood has never been the warmest or kindest parent, but he drilled good principles into all his children: honor, loyalty, integrity. All of which Cato is betraying now by leaving the group. He grits his teeth and forges on. However cold and distant, he knows his father loves him, as a father does all his children, and Attilus will do all he can to protect Cato from wrongful punishment.

His mother—Cato can't help smiling. Where Attilus was the disciplinarian, she has always been the nurturer, believing the best in her children, confident they can achieve whatever they put their minds to. When Cato was chosen to volunteer, she didn't for a second think he would lose. That was out of the question. Of course he would win and come home. There was no other possible outcome.

Cato senses the other man at the same time he detects Cato. Cursing himself for not paying attention to his surroundings, he whips out his gun and points it square at the Peacekeeper's masked face, just as the uniformed man aims at him.

To Cato's immense surprise, the Peacekeeper lowers his gun. "Cato!"

Cato tenses. "Who are you?" Slowly, the man reaches for his mask and tugs it off. Cato blinks. "Tiberius?"

His older brother smiles wryly at him. "Fancy seeing you here, kitty-cat."

Cato scowls at the hated childhood nickname and holsters his own weapon. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same of you," Tiberius retorts. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

"Should I be?" Cato parrots back at him.

"We were told not to expect you back. Ever."

Cato crosses his arms. "And what exactly were you told?"

"The world heard that rogue Gamemaker telling the Abernathy girl to run. Immediately after that, every screen in Panem went dark. As far as the average citizen is concerned, you and the other tributes are safely ensconced in the Capitol, waiting for the Games to restart."

"And the non-average citizen?" Cato presses.

Tiberius sneers. "I'm not authorized to disclose that information to you."

Cato rolls his eyes. "Then I'll ask Father." He makes to go.

"Wha—wait, Cato! Don't be stupid. I'll tell you."

Hook, line, and sinker.

"The Peacekeepers," Tiberius begins, "have been told to keep an eye out for tributes who have escaped. We're supposed to keep an especially close watch in the wilderness around Two, since it's the District closest to the arena. If we see any of you, we are to turn you in immediately." He pauses, then adds, "Lethal force is permitted if necessary."

Cato keeps his posture casual, but in truth he is ready to retaliate at a moment's notice. "Huh. So are you turning me in, then?"

"I should," Tiberius gripes, though he makes no move for his gun or cuffs. "But Mom will never forgive me if I arrest you."

"Then…" Cato jabs his thumb south, toward District 2 proper. "Are you going to turn around and pretend you didn't see me? Because I'd much rather be at home than here talking to you."

"No, Cato…" Tiberius sighs. "Look. For the last few days, I've been scouring these godforsaken woods for any sign of you. I used up my fucking vacation days for you."

Cato raises his eyebrows. "I have never seen you be so altruistic."

"Shut up, kitty-cat, I'm trying to tell you something. I've been out here because you're one of the few names on the list of missing tributes whom Peacekeepers are only to incapacitate, not kill. I think—I _know,_ you're on the short-list because the Capitol wants something from you. If they got their hands on you, they'd take you back to the Capitol as a hostage so they can force Father to do what they want."

"And what do they want him to do that he isn't already doing?" Cato demands.

"For starters, increase the number of Peacekeepers going into the other Districts," Tiberius replies. "By at least double, if not triple."

Double? Triple? "That's not feasible. He would have to cut the duration of training at the Academy, and Father is very strict about the minimum age of graduation."

"He would cut it for you." His brother mutters, "You've always been his favorite."

Cato sighs. "Okay, so why does the Capitol need so many more Peacekeepers?"

His brother looks around warily, as if somebody is eavesdropping on them in the middle of nowhere. "Uprisings," he murmurs. "They're sparking in some of the Districts. Unrest has been stirring for a time, and the tribute break-out just catalyzed the inevitable rebellion."

Pieces fit into place. The recent revelation of the ongoing existence of District 13. The escape of the mentors from the Capitol. The fact that Rain Abernathy even _dared_ to so publicly betray the Capitol. Now the uprisings. Ember said that there was a rebellion, but given how little she herself knew about it, it never truly registered with Cato until now.

"Cato," Tiberius continues, "I needed to be the first Peacekeeper to find you so that I can actually make sure you get home. And thank God that this is exactly what happened, and today of all days."

"What's so important about today?" Cato asks.

Tiberius's gaze shifts. "Are you by yourself?"

"You're asking that just now? Yes, I am."

"Were you...always alone? Since you left the arena?"

Cato narrows his eyes. "What are you getting at, Tiberius?"

His brother chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. "Congratulations, Cato. You might be the Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, after all."

"What are you talking about?"

Tiberius eyes him lazily. "Well, it would only be by default, and not because you earned it. Just as the last remaining tribute alive. You see, kitty-cat, the Capitol doesn't care to expend any more of its resources searching for you lot, so they're just going to burn the forest down with you all in it. Except you, of course. You escaped in the nick of time. But again, the Capitol wants to either curry Father's favor or force him to their bidding, so they probably won't try to exterminate you after the fact to make the kill count an even two dozen. Just lie low at home and you'll be fine."

Cato stuns his brother by grabbing a fistful of his shirt. "What do you mean, they're going to burn the forest down?" he snarls.

"I mean they've estimated a huge chunk of the wilderness where they think you all might be now and they're going to turn it into ashes. Get your hands off me." Tiberius shoves him away.

"I thought they wanted the Abernathys alive as hostages."

Tiberius looks at him curiously. "Where did you hear that?"

Cato shoves aside the image of the butchered Peacekeeper. "Never mind that. Answer my question."

"I didn't hear one," Tiberius grumbles, but he complies. "Ember and Cedric Abernathy are also on the short-list of tributes to incapacitate rather than kill, but as with you, though preferable to have in their keeping, the Capitol doesn't require they have them. I've heard that the rogue Gamemaker is their elder sister, and if so, then the Capitol probably has her under arrest and in their keeping. They've already got one hostage. Two more would simply be bonuses. Expendable, in other words."

The horrifying scene plays in Cato's mind. Capitol hovercrafts darken the sky above the group and drop fire bombs. The world explodes into an inescapable inferno. The tributes scream as they catch fire, and the stench of burning flesh clogs the air. They try to run, but the flames are insatiable, and they burn, every last one of them. Marvel and his spears can do nothing. Glimmer's pretty face melts from the heat. Clove's knives cannot cut fire.

Ember dies with her brother, trying to protect him from a fiery grave, only to be buried with him. Nameless, faceless, forgotten.

"Cato, where are you going?"

He's already retracing his steps north. "Back to the others."

"The...other tributes? Cato, you'll die with them!"

Or he'll save them.

He has to save them.

He has to save _her._

"Cato, just come with me, and come home! Am I supposed to tell Mom that I let you walk off to your death like a madman?"

"You can tell her I made you let me leave," Cato calls over his shoulder, though the thought of his mother's disappointment and fear for his safety causes a pang to cut through his chest. "She'll believe you."

"And what about Laelia?" Tiberius demands.

_Will you buy me a pony, Cay? _Cato clenches his fist. He doesn't respond, just keeps going.

"Cato, I can make you come with me."

"No, you can't."

Tiberius growls in frustration. "Come on, Cato! What do you owe them? You barely even know the other tributes. You owe them nothing!"

Now Cato pauses and looks back. "Actually, I do owe h—them something. I owe them a fucking apology. And I owe it to them to try to save them. Don't stop me, Tiberius. You'll regret it."

"You—I—ugh! What am I supposed to tell Father?"

Cato imagines his father's stern face, so easily disappointed, and closes his eyes. "Honor. Loyalty. Integrity. You can tell him that." He hears Tiberius starting to follow him, so without warning, Cato takes off at a run. He's always been faster than his brother, and Tiberius has no hope of catching up with him. His brother's yells of protests soon fade away.

The thought of Ember—everyone—burning alive spurs him even faster. _You should go down burning the world with you._ Fuck, he didn't mean it so literally.

(But maybe it's the very irony of such a death that encouraged the Capitol to choose this fate for the Girl on Fire.)

As he runs through the woods, determined to make much better time on the return than on his way here, Cato thinks about how a world without Ember Abernathy isn't much of a world at all. Girl on Fire or not, he really doesn't want her burning down anything if it means she'll go down with it.

* * *

**Responses to Guest Reviewers:**

**Guest (first): I have never seen The 100, but that's actually on my list of Netflix things to watch (I only discovered Netflix very recently). But yes, "being co-leaders and leading a bunch of dumb kids into s***" does sound very much like Ember and Cato. :) I love writing the sexual tension between those two. I also kinda like writing angst, hence the situation going on at the Capitol with Rain and Seneca. We'll see what happens to them… Anyhoo, I'm glad you like the story! Thank you for reading and leaving feedback!**

**Gigi: "They clearly want to jump each other's bones." And there you have it, the summary for 95% of this story. LOL. Jk, there's a tad bit more to the fic than that. :P**

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**If you haven't taken a look already, please check out the threeshot I've begun to post, "A Game Played Beautifully By Children." It's based on the prompt, **_**What if Ember and Cato had played the 74th Hunger Games after all?**_** I'm hoping to update that one soon as well.**

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**I hope everyone had a nice holiday! If you at all enjoy this story, please leave a review (or a PM) and let me know what you think of this chapter—Seneca and Snow, Cato and Ember, Cato and Tiberius, anything and everything you have thoughts about. As you've probably surmised, there's quite an intense chapter coming up, soooooo the more you guys bug me about posting the next chapter, the faster I'll put it up. :D **

**Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you very much to my reviewers: justsurvivesomehow, ForeverTeamEdward13, UseYourInsideWings, dleshae, Arianna Le Fay, Ro-Lee, and Primrose314. I always love hearing from you!**

**Also, information about a NEW ONESHOT CONTEST at the end of the chapter!**

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Eleven:

The dynamic in the group has changed drastically since Cato left last night, and everyone knows it. Thresh has been acting as a replacement, but I can already tell that he's just not the same. He doesn't act as swiftly, doesn't as effortlessly anticipate my need for help, doesn't know when I need him to take charge for a while, and instead waits for me to explicitly give him instructions or requests before acting. A disinclination to take over the group is by no means a bad trait, but it's not what I need right now. I _need_ someone to help shoulder the responsibility, to be unafraid to have a heavy hand, to balance my shortcomings, to stand beside me in a united front.

(Whatever I told Cato about not needing him is utterly false. But I haven't admitted it to myself yet.)

We're less organized in the morning, and arranging the group's traveling formation, along with the rotation of sled pushers and pullers, is a hassle, to say the least. But I do my best not to let my frustration and stress show. Morale is already battered enough from Cato's departure.

Today's trek through the wilderness seems longer and more tiring than usual. I can't help but think about Cato's comment about how we're doomed to die before we reach District 13. How much truth was in that assertion? Was he right? What are our odds now that Cato is gone?

Cedric keeps looking at me askance, as if I'm going to have a meltdown at any moment. After the thirtieth side-eye, I can't handle it anymore. "What is it, Cedric?"

"Nothing." He stares down at his GPS.

"Spill, twerp."

Cedric chews on his lip. "I just...was wondering if you were okay."

"Okay? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

He frowns. "You've been upset ever since Cato left."

I can't deny that. "Yeah, I guess. But on the bright side, now that he's gone, I don't have to deal with his temper anymore." I force a smile.

"Uh-huh. Right. Why are you carrying his sword?"

The giant sword that Cato chose as his signature weapon is strapped to my back. It's heavy. He made carrying it look so easy. I'm going to need a chiropractor when this is all over. "It's a good weapon. I don't see the point in letting it go unused."

"Em, you know you're not strong enough for a sword that big," my little brother chastises, sounding unnervingly like Dad. "You're likelier to hurt yourself than someone else."

As I start to refute Cedric's lack of confidence in me, I hear gasps and murmurs of shock rising behind us. I'm convinced I'm hallucinating when Cato rushes to my side. Without ado, he starts speaking. "Ember, we need to get out of here, all of us. The Capitol is coming and—"

I cut him off, heart pounding. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I came back."

"Why? You made it pretty clear you think our quest is going to fail."

He growls impatiently. "The Capitol is going to bomb these woods, and we're all going to die if we don't go now!"

I stare at him. "How do you know this?"

"Long story short, I ran into my brother Tiberius and he told me. We need to get moving, _now._"

"We" again. As if he never left. "So you just randomly ran into your brother in the woods and he told you all about the Capitol's evil plans, and then, after you told us how we're all going to die and you left us, you ran back here to die with us anyway? How am I supposed to believe that?"

Cato groans. "Ember, twenty-four hours ago you would've trusted me on this."

"Twenty-four hours ago, you hadn't abandoned us yet."

He grabs my shoulders and turns me around so I'm looking at Cedric. "Look at your brother, Ember. If you don't listen to me right fucking now, he and all the others are going to burn to death. For just a moment, can you please put everything between us aside and _listen to me_ and give us the chance to get to safety?"

"I think he's lying. I think it's a trap." I blink in surprise at Cedric, who's scowling deeply at Cato. "We're close enough to the nearest settlement in Two that he could've gotten there last night and met up with people. His father is allies with the Capitol, isn't he? And the Capitol wants us all dead or captured, don't they? It's probably a trick to round us up. And Cato made it pretty clear before he left that he's not on our side anymore."

Cato looks ready to punch something. Possibly my brother. It'd better not be my brother. "Ember, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left. It was a huge mistake. You deserved better than to just have me split on you. Now I'm trying to rectify that. Will you let me?" When I say nothing, his voice rises. "I swear to God, Ember, I'm telling the truth. I know it sounds ridiculous, just happening to run into my Peacekeeper brother who knew about the fire-bombs, but that's what happened. And Cedric's mistaken: I _am _on your side. Yours, Ember, if no one else's."

I hesitate and look between the two. Cedric is still glaring with all the abhorrence he can muster in his little body; my brother's vehemence against Cato is unexpected, but not something I can devote the time to thinking about right now. Under almost all circumstances, I would trust Cedric's feelings and opinions. I should listen to him and push Cato away, Cato who left us, Cato who turned his back on us without looking back.

But Cato… He's right. Before he left, I would have believed him. Before he left, he'd earned my trust, by taking care of the Peacekeepers and helping defend the group against the mutts. Up until very recently, I trusted this boy, and that sense of trust in him still lingers.

And I can't help thinking about Cedric burning. Which is the greater danger, all of us being burnt to a crisp or being arrested by Peacekeepers? I do know that the former possibility is not something we'd be able to come back from, while the latter, although undeniably a terrible situation, wouldn't be entirely hopeless like the first.

"If you are telling the truth," I start, "what would we do? Where would we run to? It's either more wilderness or District 2 for miles around. Do we even have time to run? When are they coming?"

"I don't know when they're sending the bombers," Cato admits. "I ran before I could ask Tiberius, to make sure I got here in time. But we'll be able to hear the hovercrafts coming, and I don't hear them now, so there's still a chance. Not to outrun the Capitol—the blast radius is supposed to be huge—but to hide, to wait it out, to survive. Fire-bombs are designed more to burn than to explode, so if we get to the river, the water should help us, if the bombs don't get dropped too close."

"I'm telling you, Em, it's a trap!" Ced cries. "There are probably Peacekeepers or something waiting for us at the river."

Cato's jaw twitches as he glares at my brother.

I prevaricate between them, knowing that time is rapidly running out if Cato is telling the truth. _Mom, Dad, what would you do?_

Dad would get all aggro like Cedric is now and bully Cato about being a turncoat.

Mom would eye him with deep suspicion and feel uncomfortable ever turning her back on him.

They would both listen to their gut.

My gut tells me Cato is in earnest. It's telling me that Cato wouldn't work with Peacekeepers to capture or kill us. It's telling me that Cato is desperately trying to save our lives.

I raise my voice. "Everyone get to the river, ASAP!"

The pack just stares at me.

"If you don't want to die, _move,_" Cato bellows.

Now they move their asses. Why can't I have that ability?

Cedric tugs on my arm. "Em, what are you doing?" he hisses. "How can you trust him?"

"Cedric, we're going to have a nice conversation about all this later, but right now, we need to not die. You stick with the other kids and run for the river. I need to help with the sled." We're going to need every able body we can to push and pull our supplies if we want to hustle. Time may be of the essence, but we've already half-killed ourselves getting the supply sled this far, so I'll be damned if we abandon it now. Ced's still-boiling fury surprises me—he's usually the cool-headed one—but I'll have to talk with him later, when we're not running for our lives.

Cato sticks beside me as we run toward the sled. Lothar and Franzi are trying and failing to get an organized, efficient formation around it. Although they look wary at Cato's approach, they're also visibly relieved when he takes over, barking orders. It's as if he never left.

"Wanna explain what the fuck's going on?" Marvel grunts, positioned next to me as we and several others push.

"Capitol's going to fire-bomb the woods," Cato replies tersely. "We can't outrun them, so we're taking shelter."

"River isn't going to do much against fire-bombs," Thresh points out.

"It's that or blindly running among the extremely flammable trees. Got any better ideas?" Cato barks back.

No one does.

Motivated by Cato's _gentle_ encouragement, we reach the river in record time, just as we hear the distant hum of approaching hovercrafts. Undeniable proof that Cato is telling the truth, and undeniable proof that we're about to entrust our lives to hope and sheer luck. The other kids who weren't on sled-duty are already waiting by the river, huddling together on the banks. "We'll leave the sled on the shore," Cato says once we stop. "It'll take too long to maneuver into the river. But _we'll_ all want to actually be in the water."

As everyone splashes in, I count heads and come up one short. I immediately realize who's missing. "Where's Cedric?" I turn to the closest of the younger kids. "Rue, where is he?"

"I don't know, I never saw him come with us," she frets.

Panic swells. I whirl around to face the trees. "CEDRIC!" I scream, just as the first bomb explodes in the distance.

"_Ember!_" I hear him wail from far away. Too far away.

I scramble for the woods, but someone grabs me around the waist. "Don't!" Cato orders.

"Let me go, I have to get him—"

"You stay here. I'll go." Before I can even blink, he's gone. Moments later, another bomb hits, this one much closer than the last.

"Ember, get in the water," Finch calls. I'm the only one still on dry ground. I shake my head, never looking away from the spot where I saw Cato disappearing into the forest, my ears pricked for another one of Cedric's cries. So I don't notice Thresh stomping out of the river until it's too late, and he's bodily picked me up and deposited me into the shallows. I glare at him, but he's unrepentant. No point continuing to glower at him. I return my attention to the trees.

_Please, please, please don't let them die. _My hand drifts up to the mockingjay pin on my shirt.

The long, painful seconds tick by with the pounding of my heart. Smoke billows above the woods, not close enough to affect our breathing yet, but close enough that I can hear Marvel somewhere behind me, murmuring about preparing wet cloths to cover our mouths and noses with. Every so often, a bomb drops like a stone from a hovercraft obscured by the clouds of smoke, and yet another part of the forest goes up in flames. Soon I can see flames crackling high above the trees everywhere I look, and dread builds and builds in my breast with every moment that Cato and Cedric are still gone.

Then there's movement. Human movement. Cato is sprinting back, and my heart soars when I see he's carrying Cedric. And at that moment, as I get my hopes up, a bomb drops, whistling, closer to us than any other has been this evening. Cato realizes at the same time I do that they're not going to make it.

"THRESH!" he shouts, and with all the adrenaline-fueled strength in his body, he throws my little brother. Cedric hurtles into Thresh's arms just as the world explodes.

In hindsight, I will come to realize that we were all extremely lucky, that we were at the very edge of the blast radius and that we would all be dead if that last bomb were any closer. Lucky that the Capitol chose bombs more for their ability to burn than to explode, because we would all be dead, dead, dead otherwise.

Right now, though, I'm feeling anything but lucky.

With surprising strength for her slight frame, Finch grabs me bodily and forces me down into the water as trees blow up in a fiery explosion and cast burning branches and splinters and other shrapnel in all directions. Some of the other kids are screaming, and at least one person is crying. It's too chaotic for me to identify who it is, to figure out if they got injured or if they're just terrified out of their minds. Like me.

I twist around until I can see Thresh, and more importantly Ced. My ashen-faced brother is curled up, trembling, in the bigger boy's arms. "Ced," I croak. "Are you okay?"

He nods. When he speaks, it's only one whispered word: "Cato."

_Cato._ I scramble to my feet. Massive flames lick the sky in the distance. In our immediate vicinity, some of the trees are on fire, but it doesn't look like we're in imminent danger of going up in smoke, as long as the Capitol doesn't drop any more bombs this close. I turn my attention to where I last saw Cato, and there he lies, face-down, unmoving on the ground. "_Cato!_" I run to him and crouch beside him. I check for a pulse, and relief washes over me when I find one. Alive. He's burned and bleeding, but alive.

Marvel and Thresh catch up, and they lift Cato. He begins to stir at the motion and hisses as they inadvertently jostle some injury or another. "Don't be a crybaby, suck it up," Marvel mutters, and Cato mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "Fuck you, Marvel."

I walk alongside them as they carry Cato to the river. Finch quickly takes in his condition. "Put him in the water, but don't let anything else touch his burns. I'll see what medical supplies we have. Someone hold up his head while he's in the water."

"I'll do it," I volunteer. I sit in the shallows, and the boys carefully lower Cato so that his head is on my lap and in the open air, while his back, which sustained the most injury, is submerged, angled so that none of his burned skin touches the floor of the river.

Cato is teetering between wakefulness and unconsciousness, barely cognizant enough to recognize me. "Hey, Twelve," he slurs.

"Hey, Two. You just had to be a big damn hero, huh?" I jibe, throwing his words, from the night after the mutts attacked, back at him. And yet, despite my teasing, I'm fully aware that were it not for Cato's big damn heroism, Cedric would be a charred corpse.

Even in as much pain as he must be in, he manages a smirk. "Kiss it better?"

I manage to turn my stunned reaction—I can _almost_ admire his persistence, even in this state—into what could pass for a snort of contempt. "I don't kiss invalids."

"I'll prove that I'm not an invalid," he mutters, then quiets when Finch returns. I concentrate on obeying her commands—"Lift his head" "Roll him over" "Hold his mouth open so he can take this painkiller"—and making sure Cato doesn't drown. That would be a horrible way to go after surviving fire-bombs.

Finch finishes treating him. "I can't put on his bandages until he's out of the water, and, well…" She nods toward the still-ravenously burning flames around us. "I don't think any of us should leave this river just yet."

"We're going to have to wait it out," I agree. "How does he look to you?"

"Stable, for now. But we'll have to hope he doesn't get an infection before we get him out of the water and cover his burns. No idea what's in this river. We could move him onto the riverbank…" As if on cue, several burning branches fall onto the shore. "But then we'd have to hope he doesn't get hurt again by debris. And there would still be a risk of infection, from the ashes flying all over the place. The river is the lesser of two evils."

I don't argue with Finch. "Do you know if anyone else was hurt?"

"A few minor burns and scrapes. Nothing nearly as bad as Cato. I'll see to them." Finch looks down at the unconscious boy whose head is in my lap; Cato passed out sometime during her ministrations. "Do you want someone else to take your spot so you can do other things?"

I hesitate, gazing at Cato's face, free for now from the pain he would certainly be feeling if he were awake. "I'd hate to jostle him and wake him up."

"True," Finch concedes. "He's best off sleeping."

"Can you let Thresh and Marvel know they're in charge for now?"

She nods and flits off.

I look at Cato's face again. It's covered in soot, as is his normally golden hair. For lack of anything else I'm able to do at the moment, I begin to gently wash the ash and dust off. As I finish, I feel someone watching me. "Come here, Cedric," I call out without looking up.

My brother shuffles to my side and squats in the water.

"You okay, Ced?"

He nods miserably.

My voice is soft as I ask, "What happened, Cedric? Why did you get left behind?"

His face scrunches up. "I'm stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I stayed behind on purpose," he mumbles. "I didn't want to listen to Cato. I thought he was lying and I wanted to… I wanted to prove…" He sniffs. "I didn't believe him until the first bomb, and by then it was too late to catch up. It was so, so stupid. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Oh, Cedric." What do I say to that? There's no need to yell at him or scold him or call him an idiot. I'm sure he's already kicked himself enough.

"I'm sorry," he sobs. "But when he left us, he hurt you, a lot, and Dad says you don't trust anyone who hurts your sisters, ever. I wanted to protect you too, Em, and now—now—"

I lean over as best as I can with Cato's head on my lap and pull my brother in for a hug. I can sense his snot smearing on my jacket, but I don't care. "Cedric, I love you. But I never, ever want you to try to help me at the risk of your own life."

"I thought it was _you_ who was putting yourself in danger by listening to Cato," he laments. "I thought I was the only one seeing through him."

My little twelve-year-old brother, already such a cynic. "Didn't you used to like Cato?"

"That was before he made you cry."

"I didn't cry."

"I'm your brother. I could tell you wanted to cry, and that's practically the same thing."

I run my fingers through his dark, dirty curls. "My little hero," I tease. "Ced, will it make you feel better if you talk to Cato when he wakes up?" He nods. "We'll see how he feels when he comes to, okay?" Another nod. "Now, wash your face and join your friends. I think Rue and the others are waiting for you."

I make sure Ced does a thorough job scrubbing his face, washing away not only his tears but also the soot on his cheeks. My sharp eyes scan his skin for injuries, but he's unmarred as far as I can tell.

All thanks to Cato.

He sleeps like the dead, and my fingers instinctively move to brush his hair, which is surprisingly soft. This close to him, without him distracting me with his smirks and his innuendo-laden comments, I can study his features unabashedly for once. His golden lashes flutter ever so slightly, as his eyes move beneath his eyelids, in response to whatever dreams are running through his head. My gaze travels downward, past his aquiline nose to his slightly open mouth. I gently tilt his chin so that his lips close. Don't want him getting a mouthful of the ashes flying around, after all. Even though I know he can't hear me, I whisper, "Thank you," and bend down to kiss his forehead.

Then, I get back to business and take a look around the river, trying to count heads but giving up when it proves too difficult because everyone is moving around. Since no one has yet to run up to me in a panic about another missing kid, I assume everyone is accounted for. Finch is finishing up her medical rounds. Lothar and Franzi are checking the sled on the shore, which seems to have survived our frenzied run in mostly one piece. Thresh, Marvel, and some of the older tributes are in deep discussion; I wish I could join them, but that's out of the question with a certain weight in my lap.

My ears pick up on quiet sniffling. I quickly identify the source as somewhere within the cluster of the youngest kids. It doesn't sound like Ced, but I can't pinpoint who exactly it is. But in the end, it doesn't matter. The other kids are all patting and murmuring comfortingly to the crier, and the whimpers soon fade away.

For some reason, I feel very proud.

Jaxon circles around offering water to everyone. I gladly take his proffered bottle but pause as he cautions me not to drink too much. "What's the problem?"

He gestures at the river around us. "Even with iodine and boiling, I'm not sure if this water will be potable again for a while. There's going to be ash and all sorts of contaminants falling in here soon enough, if not already. I know Cato is in charge of rations, but I thought…"

I nod. "You thought right. Thanks, Jaxon." My brow creases as he departs. We're back to a water shortage, and this time we don't have a backup river we can retreat to. Also, I observe with rising dread, with the forest charred as it is, there will be no more hunting or foraging until we're out of the Capitol's burn zone—which, as Cato said, is probably quite large. We'll have to dig into our supplies, which we were hoping not to have to use until much later in our two month journey.

I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. I think back to my nightly pre-bedtime ritual at home: I air out all my grievances of the day in my journal, but when I finish that, I then list everything that I'm grateful for. I had a really whiny, bratty stage several years ago, and Mom made me do this every day until I changed my attitude. But even after she stopped looking over my shoulder, I continued to do it. It's cathartic. I obviously haven't been doing it since I arrived at the Capitol, but right now, I could do with a bit of catharsis.

Grievances: oh, where do I even begin. On the run in the wilderness. The Capitol just fire-bombed us. Cato's been burned and the prospect of infection is nightmarish. Food and water will be a problem very soon. That's not even including my worries about my parents and Summer, about Rain, about Ashton and my friends back home.

So...blessings: Everyone is alive. My brother was not burned to a crisp. No one is going to be permanently maimed. At least we have supplies. And maybe now the Capitol thinks we're dead and they'll stop hounding us.

(And Cato came back.)

* * *

Sterile. That's the first word that comes to mind as Seneca makes his way down the hallway leading to his erstwhile fiancee. It's a steel-lined, windowless tunnel with fluorescent lights, seemingly bare of anything else, but his Gamemaker-trained eyes quickly spot all the hidden cameras.

Two Peacekeepers stand guard at the end of the tunnel. One turns around to unlock the door and allow him in. Seneca has to take a deep breath and square his shoulders before he sets foot within, though; he has no idea what he's going to find inside.

_Enjoy Miss Abernathy's pretty smiles and eyes while you still can,_ the president told him before sending him here. There are a thousand possible underlying meanings to that comment, and Seneca fears nine hundred ninety-nine of them.

Relief washes over him when he spots Rain looking none the worse for wear. She's wearing a nondescript white uniform—prisoner garb, he thinks.

(Or, even more disturbingly, test subject garb.)

He recalls Snow's comment about her "pretty eyes" again as she turns them toward him, the cloudy gray of summer storms. Not long ago, some tawdry stylist had been irritatingly insistent about doing enhancements on Rain's eyes, and Seneca came very close to exploding in public, something he never does, very rarely even in private. Those eyes have inspired many a misty, haunting, tempestuous painting by his hand, and he'll be damned before some has-been stylist tries to alter them.

(Of course, it helps that Rain herself has no interest in artificial enhancements.)

"Seneca!" she cries out, and she stands up rapidly. Too rapidly, it seems, because she then sways unsteadily on her feet.

Years of easing her worries and seeing to her comfort propel him forward until he is by her side. "What's wrong?" Rain is a robust woman. It takes a lot to knock her off her feet.

"A little dizzy. The baby hasn't been treating me very well."

A glance at the still-present bulge, although not yet prominent, reassures Seneca more than the president's claims that he has no need to harm his and Rain's child. "Has anyone done or said anything to you so far?"

She shakes her head. "I haven't seen anyone since I was put in here after my interrogation, except the Peacekeepers who bring me food." On the table in the sparsely furnished cell is a tray of simple fare, which has been half-heartedly picked at by someone who knows she should eat but hasn't the appetite for it. The bed also looks like it's barely been slept in. Under normal circumstances, Seneca would be gently scolding her for not taking better care of herself, especially now that there's a baby to think of.

These are not normal circumstances, and he would do well to remember that.

"So you know nothing that has happened since you were escorted out of Gamemaker Headquarters." His voice is distant, different. Almost alien.

Rain can tell as well.

Her haunting gaze meets his unwaveringly. "You're angry at me," she says calmly.

"Furious," he corrects in just as even a tone. They both know that they are being watched and eavesdropped on. The more they can keep their true emotions at bay, the better. They're Gamemakers: they prefer to control the show, not be in it. "You lied to me. For years, I'm sure."

Rain purses her lips, and Seneca futilely wishes that the cameras would short out. He knows she would tell him more if others weren't watching.

(Or would she really? He doesn't know anything about her anymore.)

Finally, she speaks. "You're an only child, Seneca, and your parents are dead. You have a different understanding of the world than mine. Family means everything to me."

Rain is one of the most intelligent people he knows, and they have spent many an occasion secretly mocking and chortling over the stupidity of others. That condescension, now that it's directed at him, cuts him. "So what, just because I have no siblings and no living parents, I can't understand the importance of family? Do you really think so little of me?"

"That's not what I mean," Rain responds, frustration seeping into her tone. "I have so many loved ones, Seneca. So many people I could lose. So many people I'm constantly in fear for, I was doing my best to protect everybody. You've said so yourself in the past, Seneca, that you've only ever deeply cared for a few people in your life. You don't know what it's like for your love to be torn in so many different directions and stretched so thin that you have to make decisions that could hurt those who matter most, because it's impossible to hurt no one."

"And I'm the one you chose to hurt," he says quietly. "Because you didn't trust me? Because after expending all your affection and care on your parents and brothers and sisters, what was left for your fool of a fiance?"

"It wasn't a matter of trust! And if you think it was a matter of deciding whom I loved more, then you are a fool. It was a matter of protecting you, Seneca. Don't you see that it's because I told you nothing that you're still a free man? If you knew nothing, then you were guiltless, and no one could blame you for anything."

"Oh yes, I'm sure the interrogation that _I_ endured a few days ago meant that no one suspected anything of me at all," Seneca says sarcastically. "Honestly, I'm shocked I haven't even been fired, considering all the unauthorized access I gave you via my ID and passwords to the arena and to the Gamemaker interface. You left my digital fingerprints everywhere you went in your quest to break out your siblings, you do realize that? It's only because you so successfully made me into a gullible ignoramus that I'm not occupying the cell adjacent to yours."

"Seneca, I—"

He doesn't let her get a word in edgewise, though. His normally close to nonexistent temper is demanding to be heard, and all the stress and worry that's built up because of recent events has reached its boiling point. "I've always known you were a great actress, Rain. I suppose I should've realized that meant you were a talented liar as well. Congratulations, you're one of the few people who have ever successfully conned me, and it's all the more impressive considering how long you must have been planning this with your family and fellow rebels. It makes me wonder how long this all has been going on, and to what extent. What else have you lied to me about?" A question that has been haunting him the last few days comes to the forefront. "Do you even really love me?"

"Oh, Seneca." Rain takes his hands, and it takes all his willpower to force them to remain stiff in her grasp, to not cling to hers in turn. "You can doubt anything else I've said, anything else I've ever told you, but I have _never_ lied about loving you."

He hears the earnestness in her voice, and he so desperately wants to believe her, because despite everything, he is still madly, head-over-heels in love with her, and the thought of her affection for him, of the last few years they've spent together, not being real rips him to the core. But how can he just take her word for it? How can he believe her on this one point, when so many other things she has proclaimed have been falsehoods? How does he know that she isn't going to make a fool of him again?

Instinct to emotionally protect himself compels him to withdraw his hands from hers and step away. He needs distance. He needs time. He needs to think.

"Seneca?"

And he needs to do what the president sent him here to do. Seneca has already wasted enough time. The last thing he wants is for Snow to grow impatient and interfere, to potentially come here himself and fulfill the assigned task with more cruelty than Seneca would. "Before I forget," he says hollowly, "I must offer you my condolences."

Rain stares at him. "What do you mean? Condolences for what?"

Seneca can't look at her. "The Capitol fire-bombed the wilderness that your siblings, Ember and Cedric, and the other tributes were hiding in. There were no survivors."

Her already pale face is further drained of color. "No. No, that can't be. They were supposed to… They're supposed to be safe. Please, please tell me this is some cruel joke, Seneca."

Judging by Snow's pleased expression when he told Seneca to pass on the information, it isn't a joke. "I'm sorry, Rain."

She turns away from him, shoulders shaking. Rain almost never cries, but he's seen her the rare few times she does, and he knows how it works: she does her best to hide away from the world, and then she silently weeps, until she can compose herself and put back on her unaffected, uncaring mask. She isn't a pretty crier, but it's when she cries that he feels most compelled to pull her close and hug her until her sobs subside.

Now is no exception. But the president is waiting—and watching. So Seneca forces himself away and exits the room without another look. When he returns to where Snow sits, the president's congratulatory "Well done, Seneca" makes him sick to his stomach.

* * *

His mother is crying. "Why didn't you come back, my love? You could have come home to me. Do I matter so little to you?"

He tries to answer. He tries to refute her. _No, Mother, you mean the world to me. I wanted to come home. I did. I tried. _But his lips feel like they've been sewn shut.

"I gave birth to you. I nursed you. I raised you. I soothed your nightmares and sang you to sleep. Yet you turned your back on me, for what? For children you would have gladly killed in the Games? For a girl you've only known for several days, a week? I mean nothing to you anymore, don't I?"

_No, Mother, you know that's not true. Please, let me explain…_ But his mother and her tears vanish.

"Oh, my silly little brother." Vespasia smirks at him, her obscenely large diamond ring sparkling on her finger. "And I thought _I_ was the romantic in this family. Did you really think she'd have you, after the way you betrayed her? Did you really think going back to her like a lost little puppy would win her over? Did you really think she could ever forget that deep down, you're truly a monster who thinks nothing of murdering children? You know monsters never get the girl in the end."

_Shut up. You don't know anything. Shut up._ His sister laughs and twirls away.

Tiberius appears in a blood-spattered Peacekeeper uniform. "And to think, Father chose _you_ for the Games, but not me. Bring pride to our district, _psh. _You've brought nothing, done nothing, accomplished nothing. What, you wanted to save them, kitty-cat? You wanted to save _her?_ How did that work out for you? I mean, look at what you made me do. All that screaming is still echoing in my ears. And I'll have to get this uniform cleaned."

_No. Stop lying. I saved them. I saved her. You're a liar, Ty._

"You keep telling yourself that, kitty-cat."

_Liar._

"Cay?" Laelia stands there, chin wobbling. "Cay, did you buy my pony? Are you coming home yet? I miss you. When are you coming back? You're coming back, right? Do you not love me anymore?"

_Of course I still love you, Lae. I'll come home. I'll come home one day._

"Where are you, Cay? Why can't you come back now?"

_I'm sorry, Lae, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…_

His baby sister disappears, and he feels the foreboding presence of his father. "I am disappointed in you."

He is frozen. Speechless.

"I thought you would bring pride to our district, to our family. But my faith was misplaced. You're _weak._"

_I'm not. I'm not weak. I'll prove it—_

"No son of mine would throw everything away and betray everything he knows for the sake of a useless girl from a family of traitors. What can she give you? Love? Love is for children. Did I not purge those naive sentiments out of you years ago? Have you learned nothing?" His father shakes his head. "I am ashamed of you." He turns and walks away.

_Father. Please._

Then everything is burning. The world is on fire, flames everywhere he looks. Pain blisters across his body, as smoke fills his lungs and screams his ears. Horrible screams, teeming with agony and fear.

_But I thought I saved them. I saved them. I saved her._

"Cato."

He knows that voice. He feels a gentle touch, and he savors the sensation, allowing everything else to fall away as he focuses on just that touch.

"Cato, it's okay. Everything's okay."

Where is she? He can't find her. _Ember, where are you?_

"Cato, wake up. It's time to wake up now."

He wakes up.

* * *

**So does everyone like Cato again?**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I know things. How bombs work is not one of those things. Neither is burn treatment. You know what, from this point on, y'all should really just suspend your disbelief in anything concerning science/medicine in this story.**

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**In case you haven't been keeping up, I finally uploaded Part Two of the threeshot I wrote for the first oneshot contest last week. If you're interested in reading about what if Ember and Cato had played out the 74th Hunger Games after all, check out "A Game Played Beautifully By Children."**

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**_NEW ONESHOT CONTEST._ For the first oneshot contest, I promised that if the total review count on Sweetest Mockery reached 20 (the count was at 13 when I posted the contest announcement) by the time I next uploaded a chapter, I would randomly pick one of the reviewers as the contest winner. **

**For THIS contest, let's be a little more ambitious (read: greedy) and aim for a total of 53 reviews by the time I post Chapter 12 (we're currently at 43). If we hit at least 53, then shortly before I next update, I will randomly pick one reader who reviews between now and Chapter 12 as the new winner, who will give me a oneshot prompt of their choosing based on the Sweetest Mockery universe. You are, of course, free to submit multiple reviews if you want to increase your odds of winning. ;) Just like last time, there are very few limitations on what the winner can give me as the prompt, and the few rules there are will be PM'd to the winner. Yes, that's right, the prompt can be about ALMOST ANYTHING YOU WANT. And who knows, I might get carried away again and write something a little longer than a oneshot. :P**

**So yah, if you want a oneshot that's all about the U.S.S. Farvel (Finch/Marvel), or a oneshot looking at Rain and Seneca's lives together before the events of Sweetest Mockery, or an AU where the rebellion pulls through and evacuates all the tributes and Rain from the Capitol (with Seneca as their unwitting hostage) after the arena is hacked (#wishfulfillment), or pretty much anything else, this is your chance!**

**(Can you tell yet that I'm desperate for reviews?)**

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**Thank you for reading, and please review! May the odds be ever in your favor. :3**


	12. Chapter 12

**Wow, the response to the previous chapter was phenomenal! Thank you very much to my reviewers: ****Arianna Le Fay, dleshae, bookworm1838, Primrose314, justsurvivesomehow, zuritamupaka, Ro-Lee, IwishSan, and FleurSuoh.**

**We definitely hit the review goal for the oneshot contest! Details at the end of the chapter, as well as a tidbit about future oneshot contests.**

**Also, if you're a "A Game Played Beautifully By Children" reader: I hope this chapter makes up for crushing your souls with that ending.**

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Twelve:

Cato wakes up to the sight of Ember Abernathy by his side, concern evident in her expression. Her hand is on his shoulder, as if she's been trying to shake him awake. "Sorry," she murmurs. "We wanted to let you wake naturally, but it looked like you were having nightmares, and I was worried you might hurt yourself in your sleep."

Whatever demons were haunting his dreams are rapidly fading. All that lingers is a vague sensation of shame.

Ember offers him a small smile, and just like that, even that shadow of shame is wiped away. "How are you feeling?"

As if on cue, the pain in his back—he's lying on his stomach, he belatedly realizes—sears into existence. He's endured worse at the Academy—maybe not burns, but bruises and cuts, for sure—but he is by no means in peak condition. "I'll live."

"Do you need Finch to look at you? She just checked your bandages, while you were still out, but she won't mind coming back."

Cato shakes his head and tries pushing himself up so he supports himself with his elbows. So far, so good. He maneuvers himself so he's leaning against a stack of rolled-up sleeping bags, and his back only mildly complains. The two of them are in a rather secluded part of the camp, within sight but out of earshot of the others, who are having a meal. Judging by the sun's position, it's breakfast. "How long was I out?" he asks, before allowing her to tip some water down his throat.

"The Capitol dropped the bombs yesterday. Except for a few moments of semi-wakefulness, you were unconscious the entirety of yesterday afternoon, evening, and night, and most of this morning."

Longer than he would've liked, but not too bad. "So what's my diagnosis?"

"Your back will be scarred for sure, but Finch says if you're careful these next few days, you'll make a full recovery. You didn't get anything beyond a second-degree burn—Finch wouldn't have been able to do much for something worse than that—so expect to fully recover in two to three weeks. Knowing how bull-headed you are, though, you'll probably be healed in one week due to sheer determination." She cracks a grin.

Cato returns it. "Your brother?"

"Completely okay, thanks to you. He would like to talk to you once you're feeling up for it. He's sorry for how he treated you when you came back. And yesterday afternoon, the way he stayed behind, not his most glorious moment."

Yeah, Cedric Abernathy isn't Cato's favorite person right now. Cato thought that Ember was easily the more bull-headed and temperamental of the two siblings, but it looks like Cedric could give his sister a run for her money. Ember at least was rational enough yesterday to trust him rather than brave fire-bombs. Not Cedric. And now here Cato sits on the ground, invalid for the time being, because he had to save Cedric's stubborn butt from burning.

But if he had to, Cato would do it all over again. Not just because he can't in good conscience let an oxymoronically smart yet dumb little twelve-year-old die like that, but mainly because of Ember. He'd seen the desperate determination in her face yesterday, when she realized Cedric was still in the woods, to save her brother. But there was no way she would have been able to find him in time, and there was no way Cato was going to let her run off to her own death. So he'd gone instead.

All things considered, that was a pretty damn big risk and near-sacrifice he made yesterday, for the sake of a girl he'd turned his back on just the day before.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Her blue eyes search his. "For what? Aren't you supposed to be the big damn hero right now?"

"You know what for," he says quietly. "When I left you, I said some things that I really shouldn't have said. I broke my promise about being there for you, with you. I gave you no warning, no chance to talk to me about it."

"We did talk about it. A little."

"Doesn't count. We were both too mad at each other, and I'd already made up my mind by then."

She lowers her gaze. "The thing is," she says slowly, "while I was angry about those things you just said, I don't know how angry I could really be about the actual act of you leaving. I've had a lot of time to think about what you said about your family, how you asked me what I would do in your shoes. And I can't honestly say that I would have done much differently. If Twelve were a hop, skip, and jump away, and my parents were at home there, I would probably take Ced and go. So I can't blame you for leaving so you could see your family again." Ember nibbles on her lip and meets his gaze again. She adds, more tartly, "But yes, you were kind of an asshole shortly before you left."

Cato chuckles. When you see that fiery gleam in Ember Abernathy's eyes, you know that despite her words, all is well again. "Sorry. I'm really bad at saying goodbyes."

She reaches out and squeezes his hand. "Thank you," she says softly. "For saving Ced. For saving all of us. For coming back when you had every reason not to."

He isn't sure what to say in response. _You're welcome_ seems woefully lacking.

But it seems Ember isn't expecting an answer because she has a few more questions for him. "So what _did_ make you come back? And how did you know about the bombs in the first place? You said something about your brother?"

The first question makes his brain freeze. His mouth refuses to open and answer. He blames his training at the Academy—_show no weakness_—but he knows better.

He likes Ember Abernathy.

_Likes_ her.

A lot.

Enough to throw away his home, his family, and potentially his life, in order to save her. The depth of his feelings is astounding, considering how they really haven't known each other that long. But Cato feels as if they have. He's opened up more to Ember in the last few days than he ever has to anyone in Two, with the possible exception of select members of his family, and perhaps that one time with Marvel in a moment of extremely poor judgment. And Ember in turn spoke to him about her life, her family, her home, revealing more about her than he could ever have learned over years of watching cheesy specials about the Abernathy Family on TV.

What would happen if he told her? _I came back because I have a crush on you and it would really suck if you died._ But perhaps in less uncouth terms.

Possibility One: she tells him that the feeling isn't mutual, and they're in for an extremely awkward next two months as they continue trekking to District 13. A highly undesirable outcome.

Possibility Two: she tells him that the feeling is mutual. A very optimal outcome—until Cato considers the fact that he's just saved the entire pack, including herself, especially her little brother, and her gratitude over that might be swaying her, or even guilting her, toward accepting his overtures.

As silly as it might sound, Cato really, really wants Ember Abernathy to like him because of _him,_ not because he saved their lives. For all he knows, maybe she does like him back that way, for _him._ But it's so recent to the bombing that he can't be certain of that, and he's been too well-trained in strategy to just blindly enter this new situation without more information. He won't deny that she knows by now, without a doubt, that he at least likes her on a physical level, and that he's fond of her on a personal level. But the deeper levels of affection, he's going to keep to himself for now.

He thinks back to all of his and Ember's recent interactions, from before the bombs, and tries to discern anything that could give away whether the feeling is reciprocated. Some facial expressions, some bits of dialogue, therein lies possibility, but he isn't sure how much of it is just his wishful thinking. To be honest, Cato is usually pretty good at reading girls. But apparently, it's different—it's harder—when it comes to Ember Abernathy, because unlike the hook-ups he's had in the past, she actually matters.

So. A little more time. Some more observation. More careful examination of their interactions from this point forward. Then he'll see where they go from here.

But for now, he has to answer Ember's questions somehow. The second question is much easier, so he responds to that first. "Tiberius is a Peacekeeper. I ran into him in the outskirts of Two. He said he'd been searching for me, in the hopes that I'd survived long enough to come home, and that if I had, he wanted to find me before anyone else did. He told me about the bombs."

"What happened to your brother when you left him?"

"Tiberius has the speed of a sloth. I outran him easily. I'm sure he gave up and returned to Two with no one the wiser about where he'd been." Cato hopes that, at least. In truth, he has no idea what's happened to Tiberius, if anyone realized what his brother had done. Unless by some miracle they make it to Thirteen, he'll never know. Never know if Ty, a bitter man but still his brother, was punished for trying to help him. Never know if his family found out that Cato threw away the chance to return to them, never know if they forgive him for it.

Unless by some miracle they make it to Thirteen, he'll never see them again. Never beat Ty in another sparring match. Never pick up and spin Laelia around again. Never attend Vespasia's wedding. Never embrace his mother again. Never again hear his father's rare praise. Cato might not have the seemingly picture-perfect family of the Abernathys, but it's still his family.

Ember is watching his face, clearly realizing something is haunting his thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" she asks softly.

"Family," he answers simply.

She doesn't ask for further details. She probably knows what he's agonizing over, the sense of loss he's feeling, even his guilty regret that he failed to see them one last time. Instead, she says, "I realized that Ced and I have it better than the rest of the pack on this journey. When we get to Thirteen, our parents and little sister will be there. No one else's family will be. But that's not to say everyone else is going to be alone." She looks up at him. "Do you want to hear something cheesy?"

"Does it matter if I do or don't? You're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

Ember grins at him. "I think the twenty-four of us have already gone through so much together, and we'll survive even more things together over the course of the many weeks ahead, that we could all be one big dysfunctional family of our own. Don't you think?"

Cato hears her words, and he watches how that smile lights up her pretty features, and he thinks how despite everything weighing him down, somehow seeing and talking to Ember Abernathy has the preternatural ability to transport him beyond the reach of his earthly concerns. _And _this _is why I came back. _And he'll tell her so, one day, hopefully soon.

But not now.

He answers, "You're right. That was the cheesiest thing I have ever heard." She makes a face at him. He cracks a grin and adds, "But yeah. I think so, too."

Ember smiles (he lives for those smiles), and she moves to pick up what appears to be a container of food. "Hungry?" The aroma of freshly-cooked meat drifts out of the tin. "By some miracle, Ced happened across what may be the last two squirrels in this part of the forest. There isn't much, but I fought to make sure you had a few bites. Finch said you'd be waking up at any moment, and I figured fresh food is better than canned."

Cato isn't used to the wild game they've been eating, but meat is meat. Ember is awkwardly holding up the container and a fork, as if trying to decide whether to hand them to him or feed him. Well, there's no way he's _not_ going to take advantage of this. He makes the decision for her by opening his mouth and waggling his eyebrows in challenge. She narrows her eyes but takes him up on it.

Ember Abernathy is feeding him. He'll cherish this memory forever.

The meager amount of squirrel is gone in an instant, and Ember switches it out for some crackers and dried apples. Cato eats those as well, but he notes the use of their supplies with concern. "Last two squirrels, you said? Tell me how bad the situation is."

She frowns. "It took hours for the flames to die out. It was dark by the time we set up camp last night, so we only got a good look at the damage this morning. I was serious when I said it was a miracle Ced found those two squirrels. All the other game has fled, and not even Rue and Thresh's best efforts turned up any results from foraging. And the river water is contaminated now."

Cato absorbs this information quietly. "Shit," he remarks.

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Ember sighs. "Nobody's happy about the fact that we can barely eat or drink anything this morning, but we all know it's necessary to make the supplies last as long as possible. We have no idea when we'll hit a part of the wilderness that was left untouched by the Capitol's bombs. The blast radius seemed huge."

He rubs the nape of his neck. "We'll make it work. Pretty glad we invested that time to make the sled and haul it to the river, huh?"

"Ecstatic."

Cato glowers at the remaining apple slices in the container. "I assume we still have around the same amount of supplies as the last time I checked." The Cornucopia was stocked with enough food to keep six tributes—the usual number of Careers—well-fed for at least six weeks. That would last about three weeks for twenty-four people on half-rations, a little longer if they only eat the bare minimum to survive. They'll have to pray hard that they reach the end of the blast radius long before those three weeks are up, because they still have a ways to go to Thirteen after that point, and Cato doesn't fancy making most of that journey on little to no supplies.

In a moment of absurdity, he wonders if they'd be better off establishing a settlement somewhere, while there's still time before winter sets in, but he quickly writes off that mad idea. Also, Ember is even more stubborn than him, and she isn't going to stop slogging through the wilderness until she reaches Thirteen. So all he can do is help keep them all alive until either, by an even bigger miracle than Cedric finding two squirrels, all twenty-four of them survive to see District 13, or…

Well. _Let's just hope we make it to Thirteen._ The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

* * *

Cedric watches his sister feed Cato, and he wrinkles his nose. They've clearly made up. Blech.

It's not that Ced dislikes Cato. He doesn't. Honestly. He actually quite liked Cato, before he left and almost made Ember cry. Ced can count on one hand the number of times he's seen his sister cry, or about to cry, and they all had to do with either their parents or their siblings or Madge. So Cato pushing Em to the verge of tears was a pretty huge deal, and not in a good way.

Ced remembers one time, when he was younger, how Mom and Dad got into a _huge_ fight. His parents do their best to keep their squabbles behind closed doors, where Cedric and his siblings can't see, but this had been a fight that went well and beyond a mere squabble. Whatever it had been about, it ended with Dad slamming the door on his way out of the house and, shortly after that, Mom sobbing in the kitchen. Like Ember, Mom almost never cries, so little Cedric had been at a loss as to what to do. Em would've been better at comforting their mother, but his sister hadn't been in the house at the time. Ced couldn't just leave his mother like that, so he'd tiptoed to her side to see what he could do.

Seeing Mom's tear-stained face, her red eyes, her utterly miserable expression...that had been the first time in Cedric's young life that he'd been truly angry at his father. In his little heart, there was nothing on Earth that could possibly merit enough upset and anger for Dad to make Mom cry this hard. He hadn't known what to do to make her feel better, except sit in her lap and comfortingly pat her hair with his chubby hands until Mom felt calm enough to go upstairs and lie down.

Then, Ced had gone out and sat on the front porch until his father came home. When Dad did, Ced saw how he was walking unevenly, and up close, he smelled that peculiar smell that he, young as he was, could identify as "the drinking smell." Little Cedric hadn't been too clear on the details, but he knew that Dad only had "the drinking smell" when things were very bad, and when he did have "the drinking smell," Dad probably wasn't in his right mind.

"You can't come in," Ced announced.

Dad blinked blearily at him. "What?"

"You have the drinking smell. You're not allowed inside." That was Mom's rule, rarely needed, but enforced every time it was.

His father sighed. "Cedric, move. I need to talk with your mother."

Ced stood in front of the door. "I won't let you."

"Cedric Abernathy, I am your father, and you will do as I say."

He shook his head vehemently. "I don't listen to people who make Mom cry."

That had taken Dad aback. "She's crying?"

"You don't get to make her cry and then leave and then come back. And you're mean when you have the drinking smell. I won't let you make her cry again."

Dad stumbled backwards then, muttering some very bad words. "Right. Right. You're right." He reached out and clumsily tousled Cedric's hair. "You're a good kid, Ced. I'll...I'll come back later."

The next morning, Dad, without the drinking smell, spoke with Mom in their bedroom while Cedric and Ember ate breakfast. Then Dad came back down and took Ced outside.

"You did the right thing yesterday."

Cedric picked at a loose thread on his shirt, unsure what to say.

"I wish you hadn't seen me like that, but I'm glad you stopped me from coming inside in that state. You said I would make your mother cry again, and you were right, I probably would have."

"You shouldn't have made her cry in the first place," Ced mumbled.

"No, I shouldn't have." Dad nudged Cedric until he was looking at his father. "I hope it never happens again. But if it does, I want you to do the same thing, Cedric. And not just when it's your mother and me. If _anyone_ ever makes your mother or your sisters cry, you don't let them get away with it. You don't let them come back as if nothing happened. You don't let them charm or bully their way back into her good graces. You do as you did yesterday, and you assume that if they hurt her once, they can very well hurt her again."

Ced looked uncertainly at his father. "But Dad, what if it's someone who's bigger than me, like you? What if I can't stop them like I stopped you?"

"Well, I obviously don't want you putting yourself in harm's way, Ced. But you're smart. Use that brain of yours." Dad tapped his forehead. "Every situation is different. Use your best judgment and decide what to do from there."

And Cedric had tried to do that yesterday, when Cato had come back, expecting them all, expecting _Ember,_ to believe him as if he hadn't left them. Cedric had looked at Cato, and all he had seen was the guy who had made Em want to cry, who might be about to do something worse to her, to all of them, than make her cry again. In that moment, Cedric hadn't seen Cato. He'd seen a Career. He'd seen a boy from a loyalist family in District 2. He'd seen someone who hurt his sister once, and who could very well hurt her again. So Cedric had been the sole dissenter yesterday, refusing to buy what he'd perceived as Cato's lies.

A colossal error of judgment, one that Cato had paid for. And Cedric will never be able to forget it.

So no, Cedric doesn't dislike Cato. He dislikes Cato making Ember cry.

Actually, there are multiple reasons for Cedric to _like_ Cato. For one, Cato has a way with the younger kids in the group. Ced is always at the front of the pack with the GPS, but he's heard from Rue that when one of them, the younger ones, is struggling to keep up the pace, and Cato is in the vicinity on sled duty or keeping an eye out for danger, he doesn't snap at them like Glimmer, or glare at them like Clove, or tease them like Marvel. What Cato does is give them a not-ungentle push and a gruff "Come on," and he sticks with them until he's sure they're back on track. Of course, Ced has overheard Cato complaining many a time about how much dead weight the younger kids are—but Cedric, having grown up with a perpetually sarcastic father, places more stock in actions than in words, and Cato's actions tell him that the younger kids aren't going to be dumped in the woods anytime soon.

Also, as expected of a Career, Cato is _very_ good at fighting, and it's really cool seeing him in action. When Ced wasn't busy being afraid during the mutt fight and saving Ember from getting mauled, watching Cato and the other Careers taking down the mutts like a well-oiled machine was the most awesome thing ever.

Obviously, Cedric didn't like Cato when they first met, and not only because the Career from Two wanted to kill him and Em at that time. Frankly, Cato was...well, an asshole. (Ced cringes as he thinks the word; he doesn't like cursing.) But after Rain freed them all from the arena, he came to realize that most of Cato's jerkiness was due to the Games. (Not all of it, though. During training before the Games, Mom and Dad were discussing the Careers, and Mom mentioned something about "alpha maleness," which Ced _kind of_ understands, and to which he attributes some of Cato's jerkiness.) And although Cato is still by far the scariest of all the tributes, that scariness is no longer directed at them.

Admittedly, Cato has committed some semi-unforgivable acts of nastiness, like abduct Ember into an elevator and say crude things to her that Mom refused to explain until Cedric was older, but Ced considers there to be two Catos: pre-Games Cato and post-Games Cato. Pre-Games Cato, Cedric would have been happy to shoot with his trusty bow and arrow, but so far, post-Games Cato has been pretty decent.

Except, you know, when he left them and almost made Ember cry.

Cedric remembers the two of them crossing the river together, and never once did he think Cato would lose his grip—and if Cato had, somehow Ced had felt assured that the tribute from Two would have dived into the water right after him. He also likes how Cato works _with_ Ember, rather than tries to superimpose himself as leader above her. And frankly, Ced thinks Cato and Em have been doing a pretty great job working together.

So when Cato left the group, it felt like a betrayal to Ced. And although Ced knew that he probably couldn't do any lasting damage to the giant, muscular Career, he had still wanted to punch him in the face for hurting Ember. But he'd settled for letting Ember herself punch Cato.

Again, however, Cedric has difficulty holding onto his resentment. Cato _did_ save all their lives, especially his own. Cato could have safely made it to the river in time if he hadn't been carrying Cedric, but he'd done it anyway. And during that moment when everyone realized the two of them weren't both going to make it, Cato could totally have dropped Cedric and run. But he didn't. He picked Cedric over himself, and he threw Cedric (Ced is small, but that still must have been one wicked adrenaline rush Cato experienced in order to find the strength to throw him like an oversized football), and he saved Cedric.

And now, Ced has to figure out a way to convey the appropriate sentiments to the Career.

Cedric really hates talking about feelings.

He drags his feet toward where Cato is reclining on the soot-covered ground. The older boy wanted to jump right back to work, sorting out supplies and exploring the area to see if anything was spared from the bombs, but the combined forces of Ember, Finch, Thresh, and Marvel have compelled him to stay where he is and rest. Cato sees Ced coming from a ways away and is waiting for him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Ced sits on the ground opposite him, criss-cross. An awkward silence falls over them for a few moments, as Cato looks at him and Cedric looks at anywhere but Cato. "So," Cedric finally says, once he musters the nerve. "Uh. Thanks for saving my life."

Cato just keeps looking at him, inscrutable as ever.

"And, um, thanks for coming back. We'd probably all be dead if it weren't for you. Especially me."

Still no words from the other tribute.

Cedric sucks on the inside of his cheek. "Aaaaaand...I'm sorry for doubting you and causing you to have to come back for me and get hurt."

The Career keeps quiet.

This is not a very productive conversation. Cedric huffs. "Hey, I'm trying to apologize for messing up, and I really mean it. The least you could do is make some kind of noise of acknowledgement so I know you haven't suddenly gone deaf or anything."

"I believe you," Cato finally says.

Ced blinks at him. "Then why aren't you saying anything?"

"I'm trying to figure you out. The Cedric Abernathy from yesterday, calling me a liar and accusing me of working with the Capitol to trap everyone? Not the nerd I thought I knew."

Cedric crosses his arms. "You must not have known me well, then. Because I've never been easy on anyone who makes Em cry."

Cato looks sharply at him. "She cried?"

"Well...no. But she wanted to. Practically the same thing."

The older boy frowns. "Yeah. You're right. It is."

There is something in Cato's expression that uncomfortably reminds Cedric of how Dad looks when he realizes he's hurt Mom's feelings. Shame and regret, coupled with something else that Ced can't quite pinpoint. "Did...Did you and Ember talk about...stuff?"

"We did."

"Okay. That's...good." No need for Cedric to rehash everything, then. If Ember and Cato have settled things, then there's nothing else Ced needs to meddle in—except maybe one thing. "So does she know that she's the real reason you came back?"

Well, _that_ gets an interesting reaction out of Cato. The older boy recovers quickly, but not fast enough for Ced to miss it. Cato narrows his eyes. "And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"'I'm on your side. Yours, Ember, if no one else's," Ced parrots to the best of his ability. "Sound familiar?"

They stare each other down. Cato says, "Let's say you're right. Let's say she is why I came back. What are you going to do about it?"

Cedric squares his bony shoulders. "Well," he says carefully, "that depends. If you have any plans to leave again, then I'm going to insist you tell her right away, because I don't want her to get hurt again."

Cato's jaw clenches. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I'm committed to this group now. I'm going to see this adventure through, to whatever end."

"What's changed, since you left two nights ago? What's keeping you here now?"

"You seem to have everything figured out. You tell me."

Cedric props his chin on his hand. "I know it has to do with Ember. But she wasn't enough to keep you here when you first left. Then you came back when you learned about the fire-bombs. You came back to save us from dying, and then you risked your life for me, even though I know you can't like me that much. It all comes back to Em." Cedric assesses Cato's reaction. The Career's expression is stony, but Cedric has come to suspect that in Cato's case, the more he hides his feelings, the more intense they likely are. Cato is not the first person whom Ced has known who defends himself like this. "You like my sister, enough to come back for her when you thought we were going to die."

Cedric thinks about all the people in the world who would do the same for Ember. Certainly not her one and only ex-boyfriend, Michetto Mellark, whom Ced had never particularly liked and who had always seemed more besotted with the _idea_ of Ember rather than Ember herself. But definitely Mom and Dad, no question. Rain, who has evidenced her willingness to risk herself for Ember, for him, by freeing them from the arena. Ashton, or at least the less broken version of Ashton, of whom Ced has faint memories from very long ago. Madge, who is more Em's sister than cousin. Outside of their family, Cedric can only think of Katniss, Peeta, and Gale, but they've all known Ember for years and years and years.

Cato has known her for, what, a week?

Ced may only be twelve, but he's had the misfortune of overhearing enough conversations between the older boys at school to know that some _likes_ go deeper than others. Whatever _like_ Cato is feeling for Ember, Cedric is sure it goes beyond simply thinking she's pretty. And while Ced doesn't want to talk about any kind of _like_ that any boy is feeling for his sister, this is at least the kind of _like_ he can live with.

The older boy has yet to respond to Cedric's assertions. So Ced says, "Well...good luck, I guess."

Cato looks at him quizzically.

"With you and Em or...whatever. I'm staying out of this."

"You're not going to run straight to her and spill about everything we just talked about?" Cato queries, somewhat disbelieving.

"Nah. Too much drama. Don't wanna get involved." Cedric stands up and starts to go, but before he leaves, he adds, "But if you hurt her again, I'll fight you."

That gets a laugh out of Cato. "I'm terrified."

_He should be._ Not all fighting is physical, and Ced can be pretty devious with non-physical fighting, when he feels up to it. But hopefully there won't be a need for it, because whatever his own feelings about this new situation, he definitely doesn't want Ember to get hurt yet another time. And hopefully, if Ced has read the other boy correctly, Cato doesn't want that, either.

Ugh. Thank goodness Cedric doesn't have to deal with girls yet.

* * *

The lack of food and water quickly takes its toll on us all.

After just one day of recuperation, Cato insisted that we get moving again, and everyone else is antsy enough about the Capitol potentially swooping back to make sure they did their job that the majority agree with him. Dr. Finch reluctantly agrees, but for such a quiet girl, she is surprisingly fierce about not letting Cato do anything besides walk. She's even confiscated his sword and entrusted it to Vidal on the sled, so it doesn't irritate Cato's back.

Now that he's back in action, Cato has also implemented strict rationing. This is met mostly with understanding, although a few of the younger kids do grumble once in a while about their tummies. The Capitol's fare must have truly spoiled us all, for us to have forgotten about the general lack of food in the Districts so quickly.

(Not that Ced or I have ever truly wanted for food. But sometimes, to ensure that we know what it feels like to go hungry and to prepare us for that sensation in the arena one day, Mom and Dad did cut down on our meals a lot as part of our training. They never did it without explaining exactly why they were doing it, so Ced and I never really resented it, although of course we didn't like it, either.)

But a whole week of not eating or drinking enough makes its consequences apparent. Where once there were merely a few complaints of hunger, now people are either cranky and irritable or discomfortingly quiet, and everyone walks slower these days. Cato also has to change shifts on pushing and pulling the sled more frequently, because we tire so easily now.

"How are we not outside of the blast radius yet?" I mutter as we continue to see nothing but the burnt remains of trees and charred ground around us. And every time we stop to make camp, we check the river water, but it's still visibly filthy from the ashes. I'm much more worried about the lack of clean water than the lack of game.

"Capitol wanted to do a thorough job," Cato grumbles. I know for a fact that he has several handguns and knives on his person, but he still looks strangely vulnerable without his sword slung around his back. He's also walking stiffly because of his wounded back and the bandages that Finch has to frequently change.

A commotion from the rear nabs our attention. Cato and I exchange a quick look before halting the column and hurrying toward the altercation. Vidal, whose leg has mostly healed but still requires him to rest on the sled every so often, is arguing with Bartel.

"What's going on?" I ask loudly but calmly.

Vidal points at the boy from Seven. "He's trying to steal supplies!"

"I'm not stealing!" Bartel bites back. "I just need to eat, okay? I'm starving!"

"You'll get the same rations as everyone else later," the usually mellow Vidal snarls with surprising vehemence.

Cato crosses his arms and stares down at Bartel. "We have rations for a reason. The system doesn't work if people try to cheat it."

"I had half a dried pear for breakfast. That's nowhere near enough. You're starving us, Two! Is that your plan? Kill us all slowly with starvation so you don't have to get your hands dirty?"

Cato takes a menacing step toward Bartel, who retreats at first but then changes his mind and stands his ground against the larger boy. "No one here is eating any more than you, so quit whining. You know as well as everybody else that until we find a new food source, we can eat only what we need."

"Aren't the supplies supposed to be divided evenly between us all?" Bartel demands. "Why don't you give me my share and I'll decide what to do with it?"

"Guys. Calm down." I move between them. "Look, we're all hungry. We're all cranky. We're all tired. This is not the time to turn on each other."

Another voice catches my attention. It's Kit, Finch's district partner. "We're not even two weeks into the two months you said it'd take to get to Thirteen," he says hollowly. "Is this what it's going to be like from now until we get there—_if_ we get there?"

"We will get out of the blast radius eventually," I say firmly. "The Capitol can't have bombed the entire country. Once we do, we'll find food and water again, and we won't have to ration anymore."

Kit looks unconvinced. "We're close to one of the urban centers in Five, I think. Finch and I could make it there alone. We were pretty low-profile leading up to the Games, so I don't think the Capitol will pay us much mind. And if we leave, you'll have more supplies to go around."

I look at Finch. She says nothing, and I can't tell if she agrees with what Kit is saying. I try again, "Kit, we've established this before. None of us can return to the Districts. The Capitol wants us dead."

"And if you and your partner suddenly turn up alive, they'll know the rest of us are, too, and they'll try to kill us again," Cato adds. "I'm not going to let you endanger the group like that."

"You're one to talk about not leaving," Bartel grouses.

"Enough!" I snap before a physical fight can break out. "It's clearly time for a break. Let's all stop and cool our heads, okay?"

They nod, but somehow, I'm not feeling reassured.

We no longer have snacks during breaks, for obvious reasons, and only so much water is portioned out. My throat is perpetually dry these days, but I don't complain. I can't. I'm supposed to be the one staving off complaints, so I keep my whining inside my head, where it can only irritate myself. Cato sits beside me once the water bottles finish going around. We're usually back on the march at this point, but everyone is so visibly weary and sullen that not even Cato is going to make them get back on their feet just yet.

"Maybe it'll rain today," I tiredly joke, as I have every day this past week, but my heart is no longer in it. We are ready to bring out tarps and rig up rainwater receptacles at any given moment, but considering how perfectly blue and cloudless and hateful the sky is, we won't be needing them any time soon. Funny how I would consider this the perfect weather back at home, but right here, right now, the summer sunshine isn't doing much to cheer me up.

Cato scuffs his shoe on the ground. "And maybe a hovercraft from Thirteen will come today."

Wistfully, I look heavenward. "I wonder why my parents haven't hounded whoever's in charge over there to pick us up already."

"They haven't forgotten you and your brother. They probably just don't have as much authority as you think."

"I wonder what it's like in Thirteen."

"Probably all mole people," Cato comments.

My brow creases. "What do you mean?"

"If District 13 survived the Capitol's nuclear attack seventy-four years ago, they must have had some kind of underground bunker to do so. It only makes sense for them to have remained underground all this time, to stay safe from the Capitol and avoid radiation, and it would explain why none of the rest of us have known about them. So if the district is underground, then most of their citizens must almost never see daylight or go aboveground." He shrugs. "Mole people. It's a phrase we use in Two."

"Haven't heard that one before." I fold my legs so I can tuck my chin on my knees. "I can't imagine being underground my whole life. I think I might almost prefer where we are now."

"Same," Cato agrees. "I think being outdoors all the time is the only thing I envy about the quarry people at Two."

"Quarry people? Are they the same thing as mole people?"

"No, mole people are the ones who work in the Old Mine. See, at Two, most people go one of three routes: training at the Academy, working in the stone quarries, or making weapons in the Old Mine. It's a mountain that the Capitol turned into a military base and weapons production facility."

"I thought Three made weapons?"

"They design and build hi-tech weapons. We make the rest at Two."

I nod. "I see. So, quarry people? Outdoors?"

"We mine stone in quarries aboveground. It's different from the underground coal mining you have at Twelve. So if you work in the quarry, you're outside almost the whole day. At the Academy, we do have some outdoor training, but our indoor facilities are so sophisticated that we can replicate most climate conditions inside. But you never forget that you're really in a windowless room. It can get a bit suffocating sometimes." He stretches. "But besides getting to be outside all the time, I don't care for any other aspect of a quarry worker's job. It's tedious and labor-intensive. And I can't really complain about the Academy, when the mole people don't even get to pretend they're outdoors. They're stuck in the Old Mine all the time, sometimes for days on end."

"So is that what you do with your free time at home? Go outside?"

Cato snorts. "Free time? What's that? We head to the Academy straight after school, take a dinner break there, and don't get home until late. On the weekends, we spend the whole day there. We only get one day off each year, and that's on our birthday." He kicks a few pebbles on the ground. "But yeah, on my birthday, I do burn most of the daylight outdoors. I go hiking, usually."

"Alone or with a friend?"

"By myself. I...don't have many friends in Two." He sneaks a glance at me out of the corner of his eye. "The Academy takes up so much of your time, you really don't have the chance to meet anyone else, except at school. I had a few classmates who were pretty all right."

I tilt my head to the side. "But no Academy friends?"

"Everyone at the Academy is competing with everyone. If you want to be chosen to volunteer—which everyone does—then you can't afford to be friends with the competition. Friendly, yes, but it's all superficial. We send two tributes from Two every year, and only one at most will come home. It complicates things if the two going in are pals."

I glance over at Cato's district partner, who's lazily throwing knives at knots on a nearby tree. "So you didn't know Clove very well?"

"No. She's in a different age group. It was actually very surprising that she was chosen to volunteer. We usually only let the eighteen-year-olds go into the arena, since they're the most prepared and experienced."

"Then is Clove some kind of prodigy?"

"She's good at what she does, I won't deny that. But…" Cato frowns. "Remember my older sister, Vespasia? She's engaged to the Victor of the Sixty-Ninth Games, Sergius Graylee."

I try to follow his train of thought. "Okay?"

"Sergius is Clove's cousin on her mother's side."

...Huh. Small world. "And you still don't know Clove that well?"

"Remember the whole nonexistent free time thing? On the occasions when our families cross paths, it's very rare that one of us is present at any gathering of in-laws, let alone both of us. I guess what I'm trying to get at is, in Sergius and Clove's little familial clan, Sergius is the golden boy. He won his Games, he's respected in the district, and he's getting married to my sister, the daughter of the most renowned and admired Victor ever in Two. Sergius is years older than Clove, but from what I've heard, her mother constantly compares the two of them, and Clove always comes up short. I don't know the details, but Sergius pulled some strings with my father to get Clove as one of the nominees for the female volunteer this year, mostly to get Clove's mother off his back. And honestly, Clove really is very skilled. She's consistently ranked at the top of her age group. But imagine how much better Clove would be with three more years of training."

An eighteen-year-old Clove in the Games sounds...nightmarish. This hypothetical Clove may have been even scarier than Cato. "Well. I guess nepotism is a thing in District 2."

Cato makes a face. "Yes and no. My father wouldn't have considered Sergius's request if he didn't think Clove equal to any of the older girls in the pool. Case in point: my brother Tiberius trained at the Academy for his entire childhood. Come his eighteenth year, he was expecting to be chosen as the male tribute. But our father didn't even consider him as a nominee. Fact is, Tiberius just wasn't anywhere near good enough to justify a nomination. It was the most humiliating moment of my brother's life, but our father has never apologized for it. And he shouldn't. You shouldn't send someone to the arena if they aren't ready. You'd just be throwing their life away."

I meet Cato's gaze. "Well, that's how all the non-Career Districts feel about every tribute they send. I doubt Two would have sent someone like Ced or Rue or Jean."

He looks down. "No, we wouldn't have." His gaze falls upon the kids I just mentioned, who, even in their tiredness, seem to be playing some kind of game with the other younger tributes. "How did your parents train you and your brother?"

I think back to "baseball games" in our backyard, where balls were forcefully pitched without warning to test our reflexes (bloody noses were not unheard of in our childhood), and we were ordered to swing the bat again if we didn't do it hard enough the first time. I think back to pre-dawn runs in the winter, after waking up at an ungodly hour, made to jog until we could almost taste blood. I think back to illicit afternoons beyond the fence, in miserable torrential downpours and in sweltering midsummer heat, where Mom and Dad would play Careers—and sometimes they roped in Katniss and Gale, too—and Ced and I would have to do our best to hide or flee or fight.

And I think back to how every bruise and cut was lovingly treated, with quiet apologies and gentle touches, and usually a hug or a kiss when it was all done. And I think back to the anxiety and grimness and fear that haunted our parents' eyes, as their minds roiled with thoughts about how the other tributes wouldn't treat us with nearly as much tenderness in the arena. And I think back to how Ced and I have always tacitly understood that we would be grateful for these moments of pain with our parents one day, when our names were drawn from the Reaping bowl and we were made stronger by our temporary suffering.

My family's training regime might not have been as strict as Cato's at the Academy (I definitely recall having free time), but I doubt his was as full of love and kindness as mine. "It's going to be a long story. Let's get on the move again, and I'll tell you while we walk." We get everyone back on their feet, and as usual, Cato and I walk in the front beside Ced, who's busy with the GPS.

Unusually, as I tell Cato about how my family trains, I feel the strange urge to take his hand. Although I'm able to resist the urge, it doesn't quite go away, and I'm preoccupied by it for the rest of the day.

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**Poor babies needed a nice fluffy break this chapter.**

**Also, I hope Cedric has redeemed himself? Poor boy was getting some flack in the reviews for Chapter 11. XD**

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**The randomly chosen winner of the oneshot contest was justsurvivesomehow! I'm going to have a lot of stuff going on in the next few weeks, but I think it would be nice if I could post the fic around Valentine's Day, so I'm going to try for that publication date.**

**If my schedule permits, I think what I'll try from now on is have a new oneshot contest after I finish posting each fic (but no promises), so if I don't get carried away and turn the oneshot into a multishot (again), we may have another contest sometime soon. :) **

**I actually really enjoy getting prompts. And you never know if something you mention in a review might inspire me to write something regardless of whether there's a contest, *hinthintnudgenudge*.**

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**Thank you all for reading! Reviews are much appreciated, and I always reply.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you very much to my reviewers: UseYourInsideWings, ForeverTeamEdward13, dleshae, Primrose314, IwishSan, Frick6101719, starlight-x-A-x, and Caroline.H.S. Reviews fuel my writing. :)**

**I have heard the people cry for the good ship Farvel, and I have answered. Not prevalent, but it's definitely there.**

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Thirteen:

The predawn light is scarce, casting the world in murky shades of blue, with a spritz of golden orange at the horizon. But Finch nimbly navigates her way between the slumbering teens and children, slinking toward the trees. A quick glance over her shoulder tells her that the two currently on the watch are still staring in different directions from her, trying not to nod off. Finch shakes her head at their incompetence and silently dashes into the forest.

Minutes later, she realizes she's being followed. Heavy footsteps—one of the older members of the pack, probably a boy. And quiet footsteps—either naturally stealthy or trained to be. Two viable choices who the maker is, and she doubts it's Cato, who would have called out to her by now to demand to know where she's going.

Finch abruptly stops and turns around to look at Marvel.

He stops too, and his spear is noticeably absent. He has a contemplative, almost troubled expression on his face as he looks back at her. They stand in silence for several moments—Finch has no need to ask him why he's following her (answer: to see what she's up to), but why the normally gregarious Marvel is now reticent, she isn't sure.

Finally, he caves. "Where are you going?"

Finch raises an eyebrow. It's obvious. They're close to a settlement in Five, near enough that if she hustles, she could be there by late morning.

Marvel realizes the blatant answer as well. "Is the nearby town your home?"

"My grandmother lives there."

"I see. Well." Marvel frowns, then bobs his head up and down. "Good luck, Finch."

Not the reaction she was expecting from him—not that she'd really known what to expect from him in the first place. Finch prides herself on knowing how people's minds work, and she could've predicted anyone else's reaction if they were in Marvel's place. Ember would have tried to reason with her, coax her into staying. Cato would have tried to bully her back to camp. Her district partner Kit would have wanted to tag along with her. But Marvel? For someone who's so easy to understand, Finch finds that he's still able to surprise her.

"You're not going to stop me?" she queries, not entirely believing his willingness to let her go.

He shrugs, not looking as chipper as normal. "I'm not the boss of you."

Finch doesn't buy it. If it had been someone else he'd caught sneaking off, she doubts he would have let them go as easily as he is now. "Is that all?"

"No, but there's no point in elaborating on anything else." Marvel takes a few steps back. "I hope you'll be okay, Finch." He turns around and heads back to camp.

She stands there for a while longer, puzzling over his odd behavior, before turning the other way and moving on. She jogs as quickly as she can through the woods without prematurely exhausting herself. The town may be relatively close, but it's not like it's just over the next hill, so she has to pace herself. Finch only takes a few brief breaks (along the way, she observes how the burnt trees only start to become green again when she's within two miles of the town, which means the Capitol cut it frightening close with the fire-bombs; they definitely did their best to exterminate the pack), and as she predicted, she arrives well before the sun reaches its zenith.

Her grandmother's town, which has relatively low energy production, is much less fortified than other settlements in Five, like the city Finch resides in. It's no hardship for her to find the gap in the fence that she used to sneak in and out of as a child, wriggle through it, and integrate herself with the townsfolk, with no one the wiser. She passes more than a few mockingjay symbols graffitied onto walls and public property, and she wonders at the meaning behind them.

Finch locates her grandmother's house—it used to be her house, too—and knocks.

Nana answers the door, and her eyes bulge in shock. "Is that my little Goldfinch?"

"Hi, Nana," she answers quietly.

"_Oohhhh._" Her grandmother embraces her tightly. "I thought you were dead, you and all the other poor children in the arena."

Finch almost relaxes into Nana's hug, but she can't afford to just yet. "Nana, I'll tell you what's been going on, but we have to get inside the house now, before someone sees me."

Her grandmother reacts quickly, and after ushering Finch inside, Nana shuts the door. "You look even thinner than usual! Let me make something for you while you tell me what happened after that Gamemaker Abernathy girl did whatever she did to the arena."

As Nana rustles up a meal, Finch explains. "Rain Abernathy brought down the arena's cameras and force field so we tributes could escape. Her sister Ember, one of Twelve's tributes, received some instructions from her family about what to do. The group has been trying to get to District 13."

"All twenty-four of you? That whole distance? On foot?"

"Yes."

Nana sets the plate before Finch, who digs in hungrily. "And did that awful commotion with the Capitol's bombs have something to do with you?"

Finch nods, swallowing. "They tried to kill us. But we survived."

"Goodness." Nana sits down beside her. "So it's thanks to Rain Abernathy that you're here with me instead of in that awful arena. I owe so much to that poor girl."

"Poor girl?" Finch echoes, curious about her grandmother's choice of words.

"The Capitol aired a mandatory broadcast several days ago. It was that Snow again, but this time he had Rain Abernathy sitting next to him. She didn't say anything, just sat there."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure, but it's obvious that the girl is pregnant."

_Pregnant._ Ember never mentioned that. "Are you sure, Nana?"

"Very sure. I've seen countless pregnant women in my day, Finch. That girl must be around four and a half months. Her parents must be so worried."

Finch picks up her glass of water and drains it. "Do you know what happened to Haymitch and Maysilee Abernathy?"

"The Capitol has said nothing about them, so I assume those two escaped somehow." Nana shakes her head. "You'll never believe what's been happening in the district—in all the Districts." And in a hushed voice, as if afraid someone could hear, "_Rebellion._"

"I know."

Nana blinks. "You do? How?"

Finch thinks about the two dead Peacekeepers and decides she'd rather not go into that. "It's a long story. Could you clarify what you mean by 'rebellion'?"

"It isn't as prevalent here, but I've heard that in other towns and cities in Five, there are full-out riots. When the Games ceased to be aired, when the Capitol lost control, people saw it as a sign that it's time to rise up, at long last. Most of the power plant workers in Five have stopped working, and it's caused the Capitol some serious problems. I think similar things are happening in other districts, and everyone's saying how District 13 still exists and is leading the rebellion, but no one knows anything for sure. Everything is so uncertain."

Finch refills her glass and drains it again. "Why are there mockingjays everywhere?"

"For the Abernathys, of course. Maysilee Donner's famous pin. She and her husband, the Mockingbird and the Jabberjay, and their children the Mockingjays. The family's all but become the face of the rebellion."

When Ember speaks of her family, she makes them all sound so..._normal._ It's hard to imagine her parents, her siblings, and Ember herself being symbols. But when Finch thinks about it, it makes sense. All of Panem knows how the Abernathys have suffered over the years: the eldest son was reaped and broken by his Games, the eldest daughter was turned into a Gamemaker, and this year was supposed to have ended in tragedy for Ember or Cedric, or both.

And all of Panem knows how the Abernathys have survived, and how they have at long last struck back, with Rain Abernathy oh-so-publicly demonstrating that the Capitol isn't infallible after all.

The Abernathys represent every parent who has ever feared for their children. They represent every child who has ever been lost to the Games, whether or not they came back out alive. They represent everyone who has ever been forced to do the Capitol's bidding. And they show how despite everything the Capitol has done, they can still fight back.

Maybe it's not so surprising they've become symbols.

Finch thinks about how despite her solitary past, despite her former low opinion of the other girl (Finch used to think, based on the Abernathy TV specials, that Ember was a reckless hothead with more bark than bite; she now stands corrected for the most part, but Ember is still a hothead), somehow Ember has become her friend. It's hard for someone to make Finch like them, but Ember's done it. Finch doesn't think Ember realizes just how charismatic she can be—look at how she's managed to compel all twenty-four of them to stay together for this long, Kit (idiot) and Bartel (bigger idiot) notwithstanding. It certainly isn't Cato inspiring the group to stick together. If the rest of her family is like that, then it's no wonder that most of the country wants to follow them.

It's just past noon. Finch's disappearance has for sure long since been discovered, even if Marvel kept quiet about seeing her. Judging by how he so readily let her go, for whatever reason, she thinks he did keep mum. It puzzles her how downcast he seemed when he walked away from her. It's not like the two of them are particularly close, even if he does sometimes wander up to her for no apparent reason to commence small talk (she hates small talk). She'd chalked it up to his natural amiableness, but amiableness wouldn't account for his put-out behavior this morning. Something to mull over later.

Right now, it's Ember's reaction that preoccupies her. If Ember sees her as a friend, just as how Finch has begun to view her, then the other girl would not have been happy to realize she was gone. Would she have been angry? Or sad, like Marvel? (Either way, Cato was probably there to ease her upset. Watching those two interact has been Finch's primary form of entertainment these last few weeks.) Friends have been few and far between in Finch's life, and in the past it's always been her who tried harder in the friendship, both to start it and to keep it. This time, it was Ember who put in more effort, and for once Finch was the one being sought out. And now, it bothers her that her one current friend probably thinks less of her because she left, "betrayed" the group as Cato tried and failed to do not long ago.

Finch has been quiet for a while, thinking, but Nana has made no comment, just silently drinking her tea as she waits for her granddaughter to emerge from her reverie. When Finch does, she feels stifled by her thoughts. She needs to leave the house, get some air (as if she hasn't been outdoors enough the last two weeks). So she murmurs to Nana, "I'm going to see Todd."

Her grandmother gazes at her with dark eyes, the same as Finch's, but far wiser. "Be careful, Goldfinch. You don't want to be seen, do you?"

Finch nods and quickly exits the house. She doesn't go far, just into the backyard, a small square surrounded by a high wooden fence. A swinging bench, where Finch used to spend many a summer's day reading, occupies most of the space. She sits there, causing it to creak, and she gazes at the only other object in the yard: a little stone fox perched upon a mound of grass, marking where her little brother's ashes are buried.

Finch doesn't speak. It's silly to talk to dead people. Dead is dead, their souls aren't floating around in the air, hoping for conversation. She just wants to sit there and look at the statuette of the animal she despised as a child (one too many comments about her appearance), but which Todd loved for being his namesake. Her brother had hair even redder than hers, but a round, chubby face where hers is long and narrow. The age difference between them had been small, but it still felt like she was taking care of him most of the time; he'd been slower to develop than other children his age, and Finch had been one of the few people who knew how to handle him the right way. One of her greatest fears had been that he would be reaped one day, and he would have no chance because he'd be so confused and freaked out by everything that was happening, and no one else, not his mentor or escort, would care to even make him feel better before he was slaughtered.

Her fears had been for naught. He'd died from a freak illness that had killed him just as suddenly as it had crept up on him, at age eight, well before he was Reaping eligible. After they'd buried him, her father accepted a new job and packed up himself, her mother, and Finch for another city in the district, leaving Nana behind with the small house Finch had grown up in and the little stone fox.

Ember takes care of Cedric much like how Finch had taken care of Todd. But while Finch had been so focused on her little brother to the point that nothing else mattered, Ember also has to devote time to being a leader, which she does so thoroughly that Finch doubts she leaves any time for herself. Ember is always one of the first to awake and last to go to bed, she never eats until everyone else has food (Finch disapproves of Ember's dietary habits; even accounting for the fact that they're rationing, she still eats and drinks too little, often giving some of her share to Cedric), she carefully balances others' advice with her own knowledge, she is quick to respond to problems that arise, she listens to everybody's concerns with their due attention, and she talks to all twenty-three other kids at least once every day to make sure everyone is doing fine.

Including Finch. Especially Finch, even. Cato is by far Ember's number one confidante, and vice versa, but Finch gets the impression that she's her number two. She knows that there are plenty of worries preoccupying Ember, but when addressing the group at large, Ember does her best to keep up her game face, although it certainly slips at times. But the important thing is she tries, very hard. And she doesn't give up.

In comparison, the moment the opportunity arose, Finch took off for her grandmother's, where she filled her belly and slaked her thirst and sat down in a real chair for the first time in weeks. She herself isn't entirely sure what she was thinking when she left the pack this morning, just that she wanted to go home (this might be Nana's house, not hers, but it's more her home than her parents' apartment in the city ever was).

Just like Cato wanted to go home.

Just like Ember wants to go home.

Just like they all want to go home. But she's the only one who's actually gone back.

Finch squeezes her eyes shut. It's so, so, so tempting to stay here at Nana's house, where there is food and water and comfort, rather than going back to rejoin a group of fugitive teenagers and preteens tromping through the woods. She knows all the arguments that have been brought up against anyone going back to the Districts, and she's thought of ways to rebuke them all. Someone is bound to recognize her? Not unless she hides inside the house most of the time, which would be suffocating, but she could do it. And Finch is sneaky. No one noticed her on her way here, and she was in plain sight. She could stay. She could get away with it.

...But it wouldn't be right. Dammit, Ember's righteousness is rubbing off on her.

And she's the only one with more-than-basic knowledge of medicine. The lot of them would probably all die from flesh wounds or something else easily treatable without her. God knows it's a miracle that Cato recovered from his burns as well as he did. Finch had been fully expecting him to contract an infection from all that time in the river, even with the Capitol medicines she'd applied in the hopes of staving it off. He is one lucky bastard.

Her decision made, Finch reaches out to rub the fox's head before going back inside. Nana is waiting for her, a lumpy sack on the table. "You're leaving to go back to the others," her grandmother states.

"How did you know?" Finch is genuinely surprised. Nana knows that, ever since Todd died, Finch has put herself first—her needs, her wants, her comfort. Staying with Nana is putting herself first. Returning to the pack is not.

"I know you, Goldfinch. You're not as selfish as you think you are." Nana holds out the small sack. "It's not much, but it's all the food I could give you to take back."

Finch bites her lip. "Nana, you don't have that much in the first place. You need to eat, too."

"I'm old. I've eaten plenty in my lifetime." Nana pushes the bag into Finch's hands. "Be careful out there, Goldfinch."

If Finch lingers, she might change her mind, so immediately after a quick hug farewell, she leaves. She exits the town the same way she came in, and just as unnoticed as before. Now properly fed and hydrated, the return journey goes by faster than on the way to town, and Finch soon finds some tracks left behind by the group. It's late afternoon by the time she catches up, ignoring how every stares at her as she jogs up (much as they stared when Cato returned) and then slows down to match Ember's pace at the front.

The look alone on her friend's face upon seeing her is almost worth coming back.

Ember interrogates her during dinner, but Finch doesn't feel attacked. On the contrary, she kind of feels like this is Ember's way of welcoming her back into the fold: a little tough love, but eventually, all is forgiven. Finch answers all of Ember's questions, and she explains what she learned from Nana. Ember listens calmly to everything—until Finch mentions that Rain Abernathy is pregnant. The other girl reacts almost violently.

_Oh. Looks like she didn't know._

When Finch has nothing left to report, she is released, and she watches as Cato takes her place next to Ember. It's obvious that he's mad for her, judging by how intently he listens to practically everything she says. And not just right now—all the time, whenever Ember Abernathy opens her mouth and words come out.

"Hey, Finch."

She looks at Marvel, who sits down beside her.

He clears his throat. "I'm glad you came back. Gave me a scare this morning."

Ah, yes, that enigmatic encounter. She has questions about that. "I thought about staying in Five." And to be honest, when she left that morning, she really didn't think she would return to the group. She'd been prepared to permanently abandon them.

"Why didn't you?" There's no judgment in Marvel's voice, just curiosity. It baffles her. She's not even sure what exactly about it baffles her, just that it does.

"Only medic in the group."

"But it wouldn't have been your problem if you'd stayed home, would it?" Again, no judgment or sneering. Just a statement of fact.

_Baffling._

"No. But the idea didn't sit well with me." It's her turn to ask _him_ a question. "Why were you so upset when I left this morning?"

Marvel blinks. "Wow. You're direct, aren't you?"

"I don't see the point in dancing around the subject. It wastes everyone's time."

"Too true." He cracks a grin. "Well, you're a pretty cool person, Finch. When someone manages to get you to say more than two words, you say interesting things that make me think. I never know what's going to come out of your mouth, and I like how it keeps me on my toes. If you had left, I would've missed all that."

Oh. Well. Finch wasn't expecting that—not that she knew what she was expecting. She never does with Marvel. Never has she met anyone so simple yet complex.

So, he likes to hear her talk, rare as that may be. As Finch muses on the implications of this revelation, her gaze drifts back over to Ember and Cato, the former of whom looks more at peace after having conversed with the latter.

_He likes to hear her talk, too._

And then it hits her. The real reason Marvel was upset.

Shit, she is _so_ not ready for this.

* * *

The echo of the last gunshot fades away, and Maysilee takes a deep breath as she removes her ear-muffs, dimly satisfied upon seeing that all her shots have hit the target on the firing range.

"I see your aim's still as good as ever, Donner."

"It's not so hard when you imagine the target is Snow." She leans against her husband, and they admire her handiwork. "How was sparring with Finnick?" While Maysilee excels at fighting from a distance, Haymitch is better with encounters that are up close and personal. Their complementary styles served them well during their Games.

"Arrogant upstart. He isn't as good as he thinks he is, without his trident."

"He beat you?"

"It was a draw."

"I'm sure. Where's Summer?"

"With the upstart."

Finnick Odair is quite good with children. "Finnie," as Summer calls him, was among the rebel Victors who escaped with the Abernathys from the Capitol. He, like everyone else in Thirteen, is anxiously awaiting news from the Districts. Some individuals—Annie Cresta and Mags among them—were identified by Thirteen as potential high-profile targets for the Capitol and were slotted for evacuation as soon as possible, but the rapidly igniting rebellion and the Capitol's watchfulness of Paneme airspace have complicated matters.

Coin claims that District 13 is limited in where they can send their hovercrafts, which means no rescue mission for Rain, no searching for Ember and Cedric, and no scouting out District 12 for news of Ashton, their family, and their friends. And because so many of their children's statuses are precarious or unknown, she and Haymitch have been deemed "compromised" so have yet to be given the authority in the rebellion that they were previously promised. And because so many of their children's fates are unknown, they might be called guilty of spoiling Summer, the only child of theirs safely within their grasp, with Maysilee constantly cuddling her and Haymitch carrying her around far more often than a six-year-old ought to be.

All in all, Maysilee is not a happy camper, and she spends much of her time blowing off steam by pretending she's riddling Snow with bullets.

"May," her husband says in a wistful voice, "how far along do you suppose Rain is?"

Their eldest daughter's presence in Snow's latest propo had brought them both delight and dismay. Delight, because they had proof she was still alive. Dismay, because the situation was even more complicated than they thought, and the stakes have been raised, which was certainly Snow's intention when he put Rain on air with him. The two of them have spent hours replaying the propo—on mute, because no one wants to hear Snow's sanctimonious voice—staring at Rain, trying to determine if she's been tortured. They didn't see any bruises or injuries, and Maysilee didn't see anything in her daughter's eyes to cause her dread about her mental state. But perhaps her maternal intuition has grown slack in Rain's case, for she has seen her eldest girl so rarely these last few years, ever since Rain officially committed to being a Gamemaker. Maysilee fears she may no longer know her as well as she once did. "Four or five months. It's a little hard to tell. She's always been such a skinny girl." The bulge of Rain's stomach is not prominent, but certainly visible through her clothing. It hurts Maysilee that her daughter didn't let her know to expect a grandchild, but sometimes she wonders if Rain kept it such a secret because she knew all this—her arrest, her imprisonment—would happen, and that there was a chance Maysilee might not be a grandmother after all.

(Horrible thoughts. She brushes them away. She can't afford to linger on them.)

"Do you suppose it's a boy or girl?"

Maysilee shrugs. "There's no way for us to know. I'd be happy with either." She can spoil either one just the same.

"And what do you suppose that fiance of hers is up to?" Haymitch growls.

Seneca Crane has been an important part of their daughter's life since she was sixteen, and Maysilee sensed early on that Rain had an unrequited crush on the older man. It hadn't preoccupied her overly much, since it seemed like the normal first love of any young girl. But as most girls do, Rain grew up, and Seneca Crane noticed. Thanks to Rain's almost daily phone calls, Maysilee has been kept very up-to-date on her daughter's life at the Capitol (but they never speak of anything incriminating, because they and Haymitch are more than aware their phones are bugged), which includes her relationship with the Head Gamemaker. Maysilee knew early in their relationship that Rain felt deeply for him, but she hadn't been assured that her daughter's feelings were returned until she and Haymitch finally met Seneca Crane for the first time, at one of those Games functions where it's normal for Victors and Gamemakers to mingle. Like Rain, Seneca is good at concealing his thoughts and emotions—but Maysilee is even better at discovering them. It had been obvious to her—and a begrudging Haymitch, who's always been wrapped around his daughters' little fingers—that Seneca adored Rain, and she'd felt assured that her eldest girl had found a good man who would take care of her, even if he did make a career out of killing children.

But now, with Rain under arrest for treason, Maysilee wonders what the man who supposedly loves her daughter—who is the father of Rain's child—is doing. With the Hunger Games effectively cancelled, there's been no need for the Head Gamemaker to make televised appearances, so she has no idea whether the lack of mention of Seneca Crane is due to him keeping his head down and doing nothing, or him having tried to do something and paying the price for it. Maysilee isn't sure which she would prefer, because the former means the man might not love her daughter as she had thought, while the latter means he does love Rain, and now he's in a bad place because of it.

"Whatever he may or may not be doing," she tells Haymitch, "we can't count on him. We can't count on Thirteen. We can't count on the rebellion. The only ones we can count on are ourselves. We're the only ones we can trust to prioritize our children. Not Plutarch, not Coin." Both their faces darken at the mention of the latter.

The president of Thirteen, contrary to feeling indebted to Rain for igniting the rebellion, actually thinks their daughter did the rebel cause a disservice. Coin believes the rebellion would have benefited from another year of preparation and setting the stage, but the Abernathys' insistence on not sacrificing two of their children to the Games forced her to act. Coin would have preferred it if the Games had gone on as intended, would have left Ember and Cedric and the twenty-two other children to fight to their deaths in the arena, if it weren't for the Abernathys' intervention.

Who knows? Perhaps Coin is right, and in the big picture, it would have been better to wait a year. But Maysilee's priority is not the big picture. Although the rebellion is something for which she feels strongly and would sacrifice many things—even her life, if necessary, because a successful rebellion would mean a better world for everyone, including her family—she would gladly let it all go to hell if she had to choose between it and any one of her children. So would Haymitch. So would Rain, for her siblings. Such is why the Abernathys overrode Coin's objections, asserting that they would be breaking out Ember and Cedric with or without Thirteen's support, thus forcing her hand and extorting her help, lest the Abernathys fail and set back the rebellion.

And now Coin is punishing their "insubordination" by declaring the two parents compromised. Which Maysilee supposes they are. It just aggravates her to admit that Coin is right. She and that woman simply don't get along.

"At least we know Rain is well," her husband murmurs. "But we have no idea where Em and Ced are, or if they're even alive."

"Haymitch…" Maysilee runs her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, and as usual, it works like a charm. Her husband closes his eyes, the lines of his face relaxing as he leans into her touch. All that's missing is the purring, otherwise he'd be just like a cat. "They're alive. We would know if they weren't." Call it wishful thinking, but Maysilee is of the belief that if any of her children died, she would know. She would feel a permanent shift in the world, a part of her life snuffed out, a pervading emptiness. She just can't believe that any of her children would die without her knowing something is horribly wrong.

"What do you suppose those two are up to now?" Haymitch asks quietly. "With the twenty-two other poor schmucks?"

They had reasoned a while ago that if Ember had done as instructed, taken supplies and left the arena with Cedric, they probably hadn't left alone. If Maysilee recalls correctly, her two children had been pretty friendly with some of the younger tributes, and she could easily see Ember taking them along with her and her brother. And it wouldn't have been hard for the rest of the seventeen or so tributes to realize that Ember had the information needed to get to safety and, as a result, gravitate toward her. It had seemed absurd at first, imagining all twenty-four children escaping as a group, but the more Maysilee had thought about it, the more realistic—probable, even—it had seemed. Her daughter has never liked leaving anyone behind. When she and Haymitch had explained their reasoning, District 13's leaders thought it sound, so the official assumption is that all twenty-four tributes are traveling as a group somewhere between the arena and Thirteen. But nothing can be confirmed, because of Coin's reluctance to send hovercrafts so close to Capitol airspace.

Sometimes, Maysilee gets the impression that Coin is _hoping_ the tributes will die, so they can be used as martyrs for the rebellion. But if Coin ever tries anything to hurt her children, Maysilee knows for a fact that she'll kill the gray-haired hag first.

"I hope they're safe," Maysilee says. "I hope they're eating well. I hope they might even be having fun." Usually, when a bunch of teenagers get together, they don't try to kill each other. They make friends. Maysilee hopes for that, too.

And she hopes, although it will take much time under even the best circumstances for such a large group of children to reach Thirteen, that sooner rather than later, she'll hold her children again.

"Not too much fun," Haymitch mutters.

Maysilee turns to her husband. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It might just be my imagination, but I got the impression that the District 2 punk had a thing for Em. Hopefully he's had the good sense to leave her alone."

Ah, that's right. She never told her husband about Ember's encounters with the Career at the Tribute Center. Now is probably not the best time to educate him. "I'm sure Ember can handle him." But now Maysilee's own misgivings about the boy—she's fairly sure some of his actions toward her daughter count as sexual harassment—are coming back. So she changes the topic of conversation to another of their children. "Cedric is probably taking up most of her time, anyway."

"Ced is relatively low-maintenance. Give him something new to poke at and he'll be happy."

Maysilee would have phrased it differently, but what Haymitch said is essentially true. Her younger son has always been content to amuse himself.

Her elder son's choice of amusements, on the other hand, she cannot sanction. And now her thoughts turn to him, her sad little boy whom she will always worry about. "Do you suppose Ash and everyone got out?"

Both she and her husband are excellent schemers, but Haymitch favors thinking quickly on his feet, while Maysilee is more of a long-term planner. So several months ago, when Rain communicated to her parents that this was the year the Capitol intended to rig the Reaping and send another Abernathy to the arena—perhaps even two, but either way Maysilee and Haymitch could not consign a single one of their children to the Games again, not after Ash—Maysilee sure as hell planned for the safety of their loved ones when the Capitol inevitably retaliated after they sabotaged the Games. There was no way Snow would leave alone any of the Abernathys' friends and families left behind in Twelve—so Maysilee made sure they wouldn't be left behind.

Her twin sister Marjorie. Her niece Madge, who is also Ember's best friend. Her brother-in-law Basil, who unfortunately refused to leave Twelve last time they'd argued, believing he had a duty to protect the district's populace from whatever the Capitol might do, even at the risk of his own safety and life. Rosemary Everdeen, all but a second sister to Maysilee, and her two daughters. All the Hawthornes, the family left behind by the long-deceased Dell Hawthorne, who used to run around with Haymitch and Jonquil Everdeen as boys in the Seam. Peeta Mellark, one of Ember's close-knit group of friends, whose father Maysilee knew growing up—and with Peeta and Farll come the rest of their family, so really, all the Mellarks. Even poor Farll's harridan of a wife.

The seven of them—Maysilee, Haymitch, Marjorie, Basil, Rose, Hazelle, and Farll—agreed that their children should not be informed of any rebellion or escape plans until after the Abernathys departed for the Capitol. It was key that Ember did not know, because even though Maysilee's daughter tries to mask them, she can't help wearing her emotions openly, and they could not afford for her to display too much hope in front of the Capitol and draw suspicion. The parents knew that if they knew anything, Madge, Katniss, Gale, and Peeta would all be tempted to tell her, or might accidentally let something slip. But once Ember was gone, the children should by all means be warned to be prepared for flight.

They would have to act the instant the televised feed from the Games was cut off, whenever that may have been—certainly none of them had expected Rain to do it as early as the countdown—and be ready to leave at a moment's notice. What worried them were the Peacekeepers, because it would be no difficult feat for Snow to pick up the phone and order Cray to have them rounded up before they had a chance to get away.

That was where Ashton came in.

Maysilee remembers that late winter day, when she went to the dilapidated house where her eldest son and child lives. She'd found him passed out on the floor and had waited for him to wake up. When he did, without beating around the bush, she told him, "Your younger sister and brother are in danger."

His gray eyes, so like his father's, grew clearer than they had in years.

Over the next few months, as Ash tried and failed and tried and failed to become sober, but finally became clean _enough_ that they could trust him, she and Haymitch worked out their son's role in their plans. It was Ash's job to create a distraction for the Peacekeepers, leading them away from the fence, which was everyone's escape route. Once the Peacekeepers were far away, Ash was to join the others, and they would all quietly disappear.

And if any straggling Peacekeepers gave them trouble, Ash was to kill them. That had been his suggestion.

Neither Maysilee nor Haymitch wanted their son to kill anyone, not even Peacekeepers. But when they had argued with him about it, Ash had pointed out bitterly, "I'm already a killer. What's a few more?" His parents, who knew _exactly_ where he was coming from, tried to explain that it did matter, but as with every time someone brings up something that reminds him of his Games, Ash's walls flew up, and nothing she or Haymitch said could make it through to him.

The entire scene on the train, on the way to the Capitol, had been staged. Ashton hadn't been nearly as wasted as he'd seemed, although Maysilee doubts her son was entirely sober, either. It had been the best way to ensure Ashton remained in Twelve without drawing suspicion, and too last minute for any Peacekeepers or Capitol attendants to intervene. His parents' dislike of his never-ending state of drunkenness was well-known. It wasn't so out of the question that his father would force him off the train if he got out of line, harassing and terrifying his own siblings.

Still, Maysilee hadn't expected her husband to literally throw their son off. She hadn't been happy about that.

Once the group of fugitives was out of the district, it would be up to Ashton to guide everyone toward Thirteen, hopefully with a hovercraft picking them up somewhere along the way so they wouldn't have to make the whole journey on foot. (It doesn't escape Maysilee's notice that this is precisely what Ember and Cedric are attempting right now, and from an even greater distance.) But why put Ashton in charge? Why her poor son, who can barely function without harmful substances?

The fact is, as perpetually drunk and high and broken Ash may be, her elder son has a prodigious memory when he isn't wasted—one to rival Cedric's—and a sly, fluid kind of intelligence that's an almost perfect imitation of Haymitch's. There was no way Maysilee and the others could put any information about Thirteen down on paper, lest the Capitol find it, which meant it had to be given directly to somebody who could be trusted to remember _everything. _So over the course of those several months, Maysilee and Haymitch met with Ashton in secret and fed him information bit by bit until everything he needed to take their family and friends to safety was snug inside his head. During the last of these clandestine meetings, Maysilee had looked into her son's eyes and seen the long-absent determination and fire that had once been so characteristic of her eldest, and it gave her hope that they might be able to pull this off.

But there has been no communication from Twelve since before the Games were abruptly ended. So the fates of Ashton, Marjorie and her husband and daughter, the Everdeens, the Hawthornes, and the Mellarks are unknown.

"If they were killed or captured," Haymitch answers, "you can be sure that Snow would be holding them over our heads, like he is with Rain."

Maysilee sighs quietly. She wants to believe him, but so many things are uncertain right now that she's afraid to hope about anything, lest one thing go wrong and everything else tumbles down after it.

The door bangs open as Plutarch abruptly enters the indoor shooting range. "We have news."

"About whom?" Maysilee exclaims, spinning around to face him, as does Haymitch.

"The hovercraft carrying the evacuated Victors and other targets arrived. Everyone on board had plenty to report."

Evacuated Victors? "Annie Cresta? Mags?" Maysilee asks, thinking about Summer's Finnie, about the boy Victor who understands Ash like no one else can, about Finnick who has looked out for her younger children when their own older brother couldn't.

"They were on board, unharmed."

"What are the evacuees saying?"

"There are rebellions in nearly every district. One and Two are staunchly loyalist, as expected. A few outlying Districts haven't acted either way yet. But because rebellion is sparking so fast, the Capitol has lessened their vigilance over airspace in favor of concentrating on key districts, hence how the hovercraft was able to finally fly back here. They flew over Twelve on the way, and although there wasn't much they could tell from the air, it seemed to them that there wasn't much out of the ordinary in the district. We should be able to send another craft out soon to look for your son and the group with him."

"Anything about Ember and Cedric?" Haymitch asks hoarsely.

Plutarch hesitates, his eyes downcast. Maysilee's stomach plummets. "The Capitol bombed a large portion of the woods near Districts 2 and 5…" As the former Gamemaker continues with his grave explanation, her body grows more and more numb, until she can feel nothing at all, and Haymitch's disbelieving shouts are muffled as her head swims and a dull buzzing fills her ears.

There has been a permanent shift in the world, and she never felt a thing.

* * *

**This chapter killed me. Overhauled it several times. This is DRASTICALLY different from the original draft.**

**In other news, I am now studying abroad! I'll be doing my best to keep up my current updating pace, but I'm expecting to get very busy very soon, so we'll see what happens. The key to consistent and faster updates, in case you haven't figured it out by now, is reviews, so make of that what you will. ;)**

**Also, to highlight just how influential reviews can be on my writing: part of the reason this chapter was so overhauled was because, as mentioned in the beginning AN, I have gotten multiple requests for more Farvel. Not from that many readers, but a small handful who repeatedly mention in their reviews how much they love Farvel. I got the hint, and I adjusted accordingly, even though I had written the previous draft of this chapter quite a while ago. Even just one reader, if they're vocal about their desires, could be enough to influence me to change how an upcoming chapter goes. Finch's disappearance and return were originally told from Ember's POV, but in order to increase the dosage of Farvel, that was rewritten into what you see now.**

**With all that being said...please review. :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks very much to my reviewers ForeverTeamEdward13, Ro-Lee, bartmanskubs, Primrose314, justsurvivesomehow, Auguruj, and my lovely guest reviewer.**

**Oneshot contest information at the end!**

* * *

Fourteen:

It hasn't been often these last few years that Haymitch has felt the need for a drink. It's hard to forget the horrible effect that alcohol had on him, during those dark times after his and Maysilee's Games. He'd known that he had hit rock bottom when, shortly after Ash and Rain were born, Maysilee banned him from seeing them. No father was better than a drunk father.

Haymitch had tried to clean up really quickly after that, with help from his old friends Jon Everdeen and Dell Hawthorne. But it had been Maysilee, who'd seen how hard he was trying, who had been his real saving grace. In the end, Haymitch hadn't missed out on too much time with the twins, but every day he'd been absent from their lives had been a day too many.

The stress of all the last few months, of plotting how to get his children out of the arena and to join up with District 13, had exploded the evening of the tributes' session with the Gamemakers, when Ember announced that she'd set a mannequin version of her own sister on fire. Haymitch's mind had gone wild with thoughts of the Gamemakers gunning after Em and Ced on Day 1, taking away any chances they had of waiting out the Games until it was time to escape. Thoughts of his own children turning on each other, because it had clearly been a huge mistake to trust that their natural sibling love would be stronger than the lies he had told to protect them. Thoughts of Snow taking all of his family away, as the old bastard had already tried to do once with his mother and brother, leaving Haymitch alone for real.

It's no wonder that he sought solace in a bottle of wine that evening. Anyway, Maysilee had taken it away from him sooner rather than later, so it hadn't gotten too bad.

But even then, Haymitch hadn't felt the keen, desperate desire to drown out everything—his thoughts, his feelings, the world—with drink that he does now. Every waking moment, all he sees is everyone's pitying faces as they offer him their sympathies (with varying degrees of sincerity), and every time he closes his eyes, all he sees are Ember and Cedric. If alcohol weren't banned in Thirteen, he's pretty sure he would have drunk himself into a stupor by now, unknowing and uncaring of anything going on around him.

However, the fact is there is no alcohol available, so he'll have to deal with his grief and pain in a less self-destructive way. And apparently, his wife has decided that one such way is for them to talk to others—namely, their fellow Victors who have also made it to District 13—who knew their daughter and son and to grieve together. Personally, Haymitch really hates talking about his feelings, so he doubts this will do any good for him. But it looks like it'll at least help Maysilee, so he goes along. Anything for May.

"Cedric could've had one of the greatest minds that Panem would have ever seen," Beetee laments, his face lined with sadness. Ced had idolized the Victor from Three. "A scientist. An inventor. A logician, a chemist. He could have been anything he wanted to be."

Haymitch thinks of all the times he's had to get up in the middle of the night to tell his son to stop working on whatever he's been tinkering with and go to bed. He conjures the memory of his son turning his owlish eyes toward him, large and pleading for just a few more minutes. Sometimes Haymitch resisted, but sometimes he ended up helping his son with whatever project he had, so he'd go to sleep that much sooner. Pain slices through his chest as he realizes he will never again catch Cedric up past his bedtime. Fuck, why is he doing this?

"He would've been happy to just be in a room filled with books and gadgets for the rest of his life," Maysilee murmurs. "He never wanted to become famous scientist or anything like that. Just to keep discovering and learning new things." Her eyes have been understandably dim of late, but now, as she speaks fondly of their boy, they partially return to their usual bright blue.

Right. That's why he's doing this. For May.

Anything for May.

"What kinds of projects did he work on?" Annie Cresta asks softly. The female Victor from Four has only met Em and Ced once, during her Victory Tour a few years back, but she's attending this melancholic powwow primarily to support Finnick, who has been very quiet and morose since he heard the news.

"We gave him a chemistry set for his birthday one year," Haymitch hears himself say. "I have no idea what he got up to half the time in his little laboratory, in the shed in our backyard. Last I saw, he was trying to make smoke-bombs, the miscreant."

Chaff chortles at that. "Little troublemaker, just like his father, eh?"

Haymitch manages a smirk. "Believe me, he hasn't done anything nearly as bad as I have." Unbidden, memories of his boyhood, up to no good with Jon and Dell, come to the forefront of his mind. But unlike him, Cedric has never had partners-in-crime to egg him on in his mayhem. His younger son has always been a loner, but Haymitch doesn't think it was by choice. He simply never got along with other children his age. None of Haymitch's other children had problems with making friends in school, just Ced. What could he and Maysilee do? They couldn't force his classmates to be nice to him, and they certainly wouldn't force Cedric to socialize with kids who made fun of him. All they could do was encourage him to push his own limits and pursue his interests, and hope that one day he would find his own way.

No more of that. Never again.

Mags mumbles something. Finnick, who's been glumly sitting in silence with his elbows resting on his knees, lifts his head to translate. "She says it's Ember who was the real troublemaker between the two of them."

Haymitch snorts. "Don't I know it." No one ever believes him when he says he isn't a sucker for his daughters. He doesn't even believe himself when he says it. Summer, as the very last of his babies, is the only one of his children who comes anywhere near close to spoiled. Rain, the eldest of his daughters and the one most like their mother, was the first girl to ever capture his heart.

Ember, as the middle of his and Maysilee's children, could have been so easily forgotten or neglected, what with them training the twins, fussing over newborn Cedric, worrying about Ash after his Games, worrying about Rain alone in the Capitol, and then fussing over newborn Summer. But Ember was never the type of child to _let_ anyone forget about her. Ember's spunk has always been the quality he's loved best about her.

The day Em was born is a day that Haymitch has tried to half-burn from his memory—the bad part, that is. He's happy to hold onto the good half, the half actually about Ember. He remembers the first time she opened her eyes, a small and squirming bundle confused by the new world she'd just come into, and he realized that she alone of all his children had inherited Maysilee's blue eyes. He'd been a goner then and there.

He remembers all the times she's gotten in trouble, from little everyday things like pulling the older sibling card on Cedric to bully her way into getting what she wanted, to the rare monumental events like the time she and her friends decided to camp out in the woods overnight but failed to tell any of their parents. Haymitch had never before and never since been so angry or raised his voice so loudly at Ember. And that had been the only time he'd ever made her cry—except once when she was two and he'd accidentally made her trip and skin her knees. But that had been easily remedied with some sweets.

The point is, like Mags said, Ember, although for the most part behaved, has her troublemaking tendencies. And Haymitch has never been able to stay angry at her for long. Every time, he swears he won't let her off so easily the next time, but he knows better.

No more of that. Never again.

Summer, who's sitting on his lap, squirms and indicates that she wants to move over to her mother. Haymitch acquiesces and deposits her on Maysilee's lap. His youngest has been much more subdued than usual, and Haymitch is uncertain how much she's truly absorbed the news about Ember and Cedric. He knows that Summer has never really seen Ash and Rain as her siblings, what with the sixteen year age difference and their absence from her life. So in her eyes, she's pretty much an only child now.

"They were like my siblings." All eyes look to Finnick. "I know they didn't see me the same way, but...I cared about them, all the same."

Haymitch's eldest son and Finnick have a strange friendship that's hard to wrap your mind around at first, but once you do, you can't imagine them _not_ being friends. They won successive Games and have only a one-year age gap between them, and both have been—in more ways than one—two of the Victors fucked the most by the Capitol. Ash and Finnick bonded over their self-pity parties and jadedness: not the best ingredients for a lasting friendship. But Haymitch remembers what his son was like before his Games, clever and sarcastic and always loving a good joke. That Ash would have been great friends with Finnick, so why wouldn't the Ash now be as well?

Some years after Ash and Finnick had struck up their friendship, the latter had begun to hang out with the rest of their family more. Haymitch and Maysilee, knowing too well the power that Snow wields over Victors, thought and said nothing about Finnick's endless string of "lovers," except when the boy from Four himself brought up the subject. And they like their son's friend. As far as they can tell, Finnick helps keep Ash in check. And in some ways, Haymitch and his wife look forward to going to the Capitol each year, because that's the only time Ash and Finnick are able to hang out, and when they hang out, Ash is more like his old self.

And Haymitch knows that they owe a debt to Finnick. The Victor from Four has never mentioned it; Haymitch wouldn't even know about it if Snow hadn't informed him and Maysilee, as yet another thing to hold over their heads. Besides Ash, none of their other children is a Victor, but that seems to make no real difference to Snow in terms of whether he can use them, manipulate, sell them, do with them as he pleases. Having grown up under the public eye, Haymitch's kids have, at some point or another, all attracted unwanted attention.

"After all, you do have beautiful children," Snow had told him and May once.

Haymitch has always known that the Capitol has more than its fair share of depraved souls, but he'd never known just how depraved, until Snow had seen fit to share with them some of the offers he's received over the years, to borrow one of the Abernathy children for a night. Legally, they were untouchable until they were sixteen; not even Snow could breach that. But when the twins hit that fateful birthday, Ash had other problems to worry about, and Rain had been given her unique sort of immunity due to her future Gamemaker status.

Then the days until Ember's sixteenth birthday trickled away. Haymitch and Maysilee had worried themselves sick that they would receive a very unwanted phone call one day soon, or that a hovercraft or train would come without warning to snatch up their oblivious daughter. They hadn't wanted Ember to look ahead to her special day with the same fear they felt, so she had known nothing about Snow's threats.

But her birthday came and went without much fuss. Months passed, and still nothing from the Capitol. He and Maysilee hadn't dared hope overly much, because it would be just like Snow to play mind games with them, lulling them into a false sense of security. Then, very recently, they'd learned what had happened to spare their daughter from a horrible fate beyond imagining. Very recently, as in mere weeks ago, after they had escaped the Capitol, and Finnick finally confessed to them how he had heard through his network of lovers that Ember's birthday had been a highly anticipated event amongst certain circles. He'd pulled strings, made deals, and offered favors wherever he could to ensure that she was left unharassed. He also admitted that he wasn't sure how long he would've been able to keep it up, so the sudden advent of the rebellion was quite fortuitous in that regard, otherwise not even he could have kept her safe for much longer.

Haymitch doesn't hug people outside of his family. But he'd hugged Finnick then.

Now, though, he can't even tell Finnick that Ember and Cedric had held as much fondness for him as he had for them, because Haymitch knows they didn't. They didn't, because Finnick was too good at hiding his affection, a harsh lesson learned from having almost all the other things he's ever cared about taken away by Snow. So all Haymitch can say instead is, "We know."

His children will never know what Finnick has done for them. But Haymitch does, and Maysilee does, and they'll remember.

Cecelia, a Victor from Eight with whom Maysilee gets along very well, chimes in. "They were good kids. There was so much about them for you two to be proud of. The night of their interviews, before the Games, they were magnificent. Both of them. They could have… They could have been…"

She doesn't finish her sentence, but she doesn't have to. It's more apt to leave it incomplete, anyway, and allow for them all to wonder about the many possibilities that _could have been_ for Em and Ced.

It becomes too much for Haymitch, and without bothering to excuse himself, he gets up and leaves the room. In the hallway, he sinks against the wall, feeling a headache coming on. But no tears. He and Maysilee finished shedding those in the privacy of their room.

"Hey." Chaff leans against the wall beside him. "You look like you could use a drink."

Haymitch laughs bitterly. "When do I not?"

"You're such a family man nowadays. I almost forget that you're a miserable bastard deep down." Chaff reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small flask. "Want some?"

Haymitch stares. "Alcohol is contraband here."

"Yup."

"They don't allow any in the district."

"There's always a way. Prohibition never works. I swear it's legit, not any sort of shitty moonshine that's gonna kill you."

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. He's better than that.

But damn it all, his children are dead. He deserves a bit of whiskey or brandy or whatever the fuck is in that flask. So Haymitch takes it, and he raises it to his children whom he will never see grow up, and he drinks.

* * *

Finch has been acting skittish lately. I figure out why, once I spot enough of Marvel's disappointed looks of confusion sent her way and I realize they never seem to be within twenty feet of each other.

"Are you avoiding him?" I ask her, after I wander from my usual place at the front of the pack so I can walk beside her.

"Who?"

"Don't act like you don't know whom I'm talking about," I say dryly. "You're smarter than that."

"I'm not avoiding anyone," Finch says with such a straight face that I almost believe her.

"So you won't mind if I call for Marvel right now to join our conversation?" I look his direction and raise my voice. "Hey! M—"

Finch slaps her hand over my mouth, muffling my voice. "Fine. I'm avoiding him. Happy?"

I move her hand away. "But why?" I recall my conversation with Marvel when we were hunting after the mutt attack, about his crush on Finch. She can be hard to read sometimes, but I haven't been getting any vibes from her telling me that she likes him back, or that she even enjoys his presence. Ooh. This might be a little tricky. "Did he, uh, make unwanted advances on you or something?"

She shakes her head, looking suspicious. "How did you know he likes me?"

"How do _you_ know he likes you?"

"It's not that hard to figure out."

"When did you figure it out?"

"A few days ago."

I smirk. "Day Two." But to be honest, knowing about it isn't really something to gloat over. I don't think Marvel is trying to hide it, he just wants a fair shot at Finch—which, if she continues to avoid him, he'll never get. "So what did he do, then?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" I repeat, eyes narrowed. She nods. "Then you're avoiding him because?"

"I don't know."

Ah. Very informative. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Finch's brow furrows. "I just don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Why he would...like me."

I feel the strong urge to hug Finch. So I do.

She squirms. "What are you doing?"

"Suffocating you with my arms."

"I like breathing, thanks."

I release her and continue walking again, ignoring how people are staring at us for temporarily halting the column. "Do you really have no idea?"

Finch folds her arms. "He thinks I say interesting things and it keeps him on his toes."

When did he say this to her? I'm guessing sometime after Finch came back. "Well, the way I see it, that means he sees what a wonderful brain you have, and good for him for realizing. Intelligence is one of the better reasons to like someone."

She frowns. "But…" She trails off and looks away, contemplative. Not wanting to interrupt her train of thought, I wait for her to speak again. When she does, she seems to have completely changed the subject. "Cato thinks you're pretty."

Whoa. Where did that topic come from? "I...suppose he does, yes." I'd have to be blind not to realize Cato is attracted to me. What I don't realize is why Finch is bringing this up.

"And smart. And funny. And interesting. And—"

Too much. Too much. Too much. "Not that I'm not flattered by your listing off all my supposed virtues, but is there a point to this, Finch?"

"Marvel thinks I'm smart. That's it. Nothing else. I don't see how it's enough for him to like me."

I blink at her. "How do you know he doesn't think those other things?"

She looks at me blankly. "Because I'm not any of those other things," she says matter-of-factly.

Pretty. Funny. Interesting. She really doesn't think she's any of those things? "What? Finch—"

"None of this is important," she blurts out, face turning as red as her hair. "I was being silly. Sorry for wasting your time."

"No, Finch, wait—"

Well, there she goes. Finch darts to the back of the pack, behind the sled. I could follow her, and I want to. But I'm sure she'd just avoid me as easily as she's been avoiding Marvel, so there's no point in stalking her.

Wow. I was not expecting our conversation to turn that direction. I'm actually reminded of some of my girl-talks with Madge back home. Although she nurses a secret tendre for Gale and has never looked in another guy's direction, that hasn't stopped her from getting a handful of admirers of her own. Since she's the mayor's daughter, the boys are usually too hesitant to approach her, but of course I've noticed them sneaking glances at her—I like to keep an eye out for when someone is crushing on my friends. And of course, I duly report these observations to her, which bewilder her because Madge is, admittedly, very quiet in public, so she has no idea what about her has gotten their interest. Katniss is like that, too (although in her case, I take care not to mention Peeta, because he's currently in the friend-zone, which is already cruel enough).

Now I can add Finch to the list. She's quiet—but she's also funny (she's made me laugh a few times), and smart (goes without saying), and pretty (at least, _I_ think so, in her own unique way), and above all, interesting (her air of mystique really makes you want to learn more about her). I don't see why she thinks she isn't crushable.

But it's not my feelings we're talking about. It's Finch's. So what do I do? Do I corner Finch and make her talk? Do I wait for her to approach me? Do I bully Marvel into lavishing her with compliments? The last one is tempting, but it would probably backfire.

Regardless, I think it's time that Marvel and I had another chat.

The boy from One has taken my usual spot beside Cato at the front. They're in the middle of a conversation (comparing ancient and medieval weapon-making techniques versus modern—Careers, I swear), and Marvel is mid-word when I loop my arm with his and drag him off to the side with me, into the woods where we can talk in privacy.

Marvel is nonplussed. "Uhh, if you're looking for a woodsy makeout session, I think you meant to pick the guy next to me."

I do not condescend to respond to that. Instead, I forge on with the not-makeout-session reason I hauled him over here. "So why exactly is it you like Finch?"

Marvel is taken aback, but once he gets over it, he looks at me suspiciously. "Are you seriously asking me to confide in you my thoughts about Finch, when you're closer to Finch than you are to me, and there's a good chance you'll spill everything to her the instant this conversation is over?"

He makes this sound so poorly thought out. Which it is. But I'm nosy, and I'm determined to get all the facts of this Finch and Marvel situation. "Marvel, Finch is my friend. But so are you. And right now, you both seem unhappy, so call me a meddler, but I want to try to fix that." Maybe the two of them should get together. Maybe they shouldn't. I don't know which would be better for them. So I'm trying to figure that out.

Marvel's ears perk up. "She's unhappy?" he asks, looking perturbed. "But—did she say why?"

"Mmm, more or less, yes." I hesitate at breaking Finch's confidence, even though I know information exchanges of this sort usually require that I, you know, exchange information of my own. It's not like Finch swore me to secrecy, but I think she assumed I wouldn't go blabbing to someone else, least of all Marvel. "And that's why I need to know why you like Finch, because the 'why' is part of the reason she's unhappy."

He looks thoughtful as he considers it. "How will telling you these things help, exactly?"

"Let's just say...Finch is preoccupied by what you think of her. I'm of the opinion that her reading of your thoughts is inaccurate, and that she really doesn't have anything to be upset about. If I'm right about you, then that should make her less unhappy, I hope."

Marvel still hesitates. "Are you going to tell her everything we talk about?"

"Marvel, I promise I won't tell her anything without your permission. In fact, if we do talk about something that I think she would benefit from hearing, then I would want _you_ to tell her." I can see him cracking. "Come on, pal. Spill."

Marvel exhales loudly. "Okay, then." He drums his fingers against his spear as he gathers his thoughts. "Well. I got interested in her at first because I have this thing for redheads."

Hmm. I was hoping for something more profound than that. "So if, say, Glimmer dyed her hair red—"

"No, no, no, Glimmer and I would never work out. We're friends, but no." He shakes his head. "And the hair is only what turned my head, not what actually made me start liking her."

Promising. "Which was?"

"You know this already, but Finch is really, _really_ smart. Almost scarily smart. And she doesn't even try. Back home, everyone just assumes I'm not interested in school or book-learning, like I'm only interested in working out and fighting. Which I do enjoy. But I also just as much enjoy things that are intellectually stimulating."

"Like the history of spears?"

"Well...yes. Actually, did you know the ancient Romans—eh, never mind that. Anyway, my friends in One always thought I preferred pretty girls over smart girls, and you know, pretty girls have their merits, but if they don't have much brains, it's...it doesn't last long. I get bored if they can't keep up with the conversation. But I never get bored with Finch. She's not chatty, true, but when she does talk, it's always something interesting or informative or surprising. She makes me think. She makes me want to learn more from her. And I like that."

Wow. If I were Finch, I'd be extremely flattered. But she said that Marvel already told her she says interesting things, and that wasn't enough for her, apparently. So for her sake (and my own curiosity), I prod a little more. "But do you _also_ think Finch is...cute? Or pretty?"

Marvel purses his lips. "This is starting to feel like a conversation I ought to be having with Cato."

"Have you talked with him about this yet?"

"I haven't talked to anyone about Finch, really. Except you, right now." He scratches his head. "I will admit that Finch isn't conventionally pretty. But she has a..._striking_ face. You know what I mean? She's really good at making you forget she's there, but when you really, _really_ look at her, it's hard to look away."

I don't quite feel this pull towards Finch's face that Marvel evidently feels, but we're talking about his feelings here, not mine. And I do get what he means, about her face being striking. Her features are rather narrow and sharp, like a fox, and her face has an almost mystical quality to it. Like Marvel said, sometimes it's hard to _see_ Finch's face, because she's so low-key. But once you see it, it's hard to forget.

All in all, I see nothing wrong with anything Marvel said, and I really think it would behoove Finch to hear him elaborate on his opinion of her. To me, it looks like Marvel's crush on her occurred via a series of steps: first her hair, then her intelligence, then pretty much everything else.

I could get behind this pairing.

I'm about to tell him that he should say everything he just told me to her, when it occurs to me that I don't know for sure if Finch likes him back. She doesn't seem repulsed by him or his attentions, but I'm not sure if his feelings are reciprocated. Like I told Marvel, he's my friend too, and I don't want to encourage him to bare his heart to Finch, only to have it broken. More investigation is required.

Ember Abernathy: Private Eye-cum-Matchmaker.

"I need to talk to Finch," I begin, and I spot the alarm on his face. "Hey, I promised _I_ wouldn't tell her anything. And I won't. I just need to find out for sure how she feels about you."

Marvel's face lights up, and he clears his throat. "Uh, any ideas what those feelings may be?"

"Not for certain," I admit. "That's why I need to talk to her."

"Will you let me know?"

I think over it before nodding. "If she doesn't mind me telling you either way, sure." But if things work out, maybe I can get her to tell Marvel herself, just as I'm hoping to get Marvel himself to tell her his feelings. I'm going to end up orchestrating their whole conversation at this point. _Finch, say this. Marvel, say that. Finch, reply with this._

Marvel scuffs his shoe on the ground. "Do you think it's possible she might like me back? Maybe not today, but...would it be possible?"

It's jarring to see Marvel, who's usually brimming with confidence, so unsure himself. Maybe he and Finch have more in common than I thought. I sigh dramatically and clasp my hands together, as if swooning. "Oh, Marvel. You're so funny and kind and thoughtful and cute, but there's _nooooo way_ I could ever like you." I drop my arms. "You'll be fine."

He looks hesitantly pleased, like he's cautious of being optimistic but still can't help hoping for the best. Then he jerks his head as he stares the other way. "Crap. Where's the pack?"

Whoops. We've been so engrossed in our conversation that we've stopped walking and have been standing in the same place for the last however many minutes. After exchanging a quick glance, we take off, following the group's tracks. It doesn't take long for us to catch up, sweaty and out of breath. Marvel resumes his place (_my_ place) next to Cato, while I quickly check on Ced, whom I've been neglecting today while preoccupied with my matchmaking endeavors. Once I make sure he's fine, I backtrack to seek out Finch.

As I part ways, Marvel calls after me, "Great makeout session!"

Recalling his comment when I first dragged him away for our conversation, I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I sarcastically blow him a kiss before turning my back on him and searching for his favorite redhead. That is, if I can corner her and stop her from pulling her trademark disappearing act.

* * *

It doesn't bother him when Ember hooks her arm with Marvel's and hauls him away into the forest.

It doesn't bother him when Marvel makes that comment about a makeout session, because it's Marvel. He makes stupid comments like that all the time.

It doesn't even bother him when she blows a kiss back at Marvel, because the two of them have the sort of dynamic where things like that don't mean a thing.

But it does bother Cato when shortly after Ember leaves for another part of the pack, Marvel starts, for lack of a better word, glowing. He also starts to blab away, his enthusiasm bubbling over, and the more he talks, the heavier Cato's gut feels. And despite his attempts otherwise, the redder his vision.

"Isn't she great?" Marvel queries, a dreamy expression on his face. "I wasn't sure what Ember wanted in the woods back there, but I'm very glad she made me go out there with her. I think things are starting to fall in place now."

Cato is confused by Marvel's words—and put on edge. "What are you talking about?"

Marvel slings an arm around Cato's shoulders, grinning like an idiot. "You know, I was starting to give up on all hope she might like me back. But Ember has assured me that isn't the case."

What?

"Ember said I'm funny and kind and thoughtful and cute. She's gotta like me back, right?"

_What?_

"It's just that Ember said she was unhappy, but not because she doesn't like that _I_ like her, but—well, it had something to do with _why_ she thought I like her, apparently. So I told Ember why, and she seemed pretty satisfied. I told her—"

"Marvel, go watch the rear."

The other boy stops mid-sentence. "Well, if you didn't want to hear it, you could've just said so," Marvel huffs, before departing for the back.

Cato doesn't watch him go. His head is too busy swimming with various iterations of _What the fuck?_

Since when did Marvel like Ember? And since when did Ember apparently like him back? There is a pang in his chest as he is flooded with imaginings of the guy who's the closest thing he has to a best friend sneaking around behind his back with the girl whose very smile does strange things to his heart. There is searing heat from his anger, biting cold from his hurt, and pervasive numbness from his realization that everything he's done—returned to save the pack, rescued _her_ brother from burning to death, sat and talked with her every time she's looked anything less than happy—has amounted to..._this_. That he's been played. That the two of them have probably been laughing these last few days, weeks even, at how gullible and stupid he is for thinking he could ever win over Ember Abernathy.

An errant thought flies into his head. _Monsters never get the girl in the end._ Not knowing where it came from, he tries to shake it out, but it sticks stubbornly.

His mind runs rampant with memories of anything and everything that has ever involved both Ember and Marvel at the same time. He can go as far back as the Tribute Center, when the world had still been an entirely different place, with a whole different set of rules. And as a rule, it's a horrible idea to befriend your fellow tributes, even if they're in the Career pack with you. But Cato and Marvel had hit it off straight away, way better than Cato has ever gotten along with anyone from back home. One evening, the two of them had gone down to the Training Center for some extra practice, and conversation between them had steered toward the topic of girls. And Cato, against his better judgment, had decided it wasn't such a big deal to tell Marvel about Ember Abernathy. One of them was going to be dead in several weeks anyway, so it wasn't like Cato was going to be too concerned about the other boy spilling his secrets.

But now, Cato wonders if the whole time Marvel had been listening, the boy from One had been contemplating his own feelings about the Girl on Fire.

_She's pretty hot. And not just because of the fire._ Those had been Marvel's exact words about Ember, as the two of them had lain in wait for the Peacekeepers following them in the arena. Cato had thought that Marvel's insistence on bringing up the subject of Ember had been inappropriate for the moment but had quickly been distracted by more important things, like the Capitol goons bent on either killing or kidnapping them all. Had Marvel tried to start a conversation about it because he'd wanted to gauge Cato's own interest as competition?

And don't even get him started on all the times that Ember and Marvel have gone hunting together. Granted, it's never the two of them alone who go out, because Cedric and Clove usually hunt as well. But Cato knows for a fact that the four of them rarely stick together as one group, and more than once Ember and Marvel have parted ways from the other two. So they've definitely been alone before.

Then there was how in the days after the fire-bombs, while Cato had been recuperating, Marvel and Thresh had assumed his duties. Cato had been far from invalid, but it had taken him time to return to full-strength, and in that time, Ember had consulted as frequently with his temporary substitutes as she'd used to with Cato. Plenty of time for Marvel to talk to Ember. Plenty of opportunity for him to take advantage of the not-so-reconciled rift between her and Cato—despite everything Ember said about putting it behind them—that resulted from Cato's departure.

Now this. Ember seeking out not Cato but _Marvel,_ dragging _Marvel_ with her for privacy in the woods, returning to the pack all flushed and mussed and red-faced with _Marvel,_ blowing kisses at _Marvel_ in answer to his comment about making out.

Cato senses someone staring at him, and he turns his head sharply to see Cedric watching him with no little wariness. "What?" Cato growls.

"You look angry."

"And?"

"Do you want—"

"No."

"Okay." Cedric wisely returns his attention to his GPS.

Cato stews in silence for the rest of that day's march, trying and failing not to think about what Ember and Marvel's woodsy rendezvouses may have involved. As he stews, he realizes that the majority of his anger is directed not toward Ember. He can't force her to like him back, and he _wanted_ her to pick him of her own volition. If everything he's done these last few weeks has been insufficient to sway or woo her, well, he has no idea what more he can do. He'd been hopeful that her warm, open countenance toward him meant that there was promise in their future, but obviously it's just been his wishful thinking again. He can't be mad at Ember for rejecting him.

No, it's _Marvel_ he's pissed at, because Marvel very clearly knew how Cato felt about her, but it seems he didn't give a fuck about any of that before going after her. Apparently, they aren't as good friends as Cato thought.

When they stop to make camp, Marvel beelines over to Ember, and Cato sees red. As he seethes and watches them with their heads bent toward each other, whispering, Vidal approaches Cato, starts to ask a question, realizes something is very wrong, and quickly retreats. Cato barely notices the boy from Ten come and go.

Ember heads in Finch's direction, and Marvel struts toward Cato, grinning like an idiot. "So have you stopped being so pissed off for no reason yet?"

Cato thinks there might be a vein throbbing in his forehead. He looks away. "I don't know, what have you and Ember been up to all day?"

Because Cato has turned away, he misses the understanding dawning upon Marvel's face as the other boy realizes what has been going through Cato's head all day. He also misses the moment that Marvel smirks as he makes the unfortunate decision to have a bit of fun by exacerbating the misunderstanding for a few more minutes. "Oh, you know, the usual. Making out in the woods, taking off each other's shirts, feeling up her—"

_Fuck it._

Cato slams his fist in Marvel's face.

* * *

**A friendly reminder that Cato still has a nasty temper, and Marvel can be kind of a dick sometimes. :D**

**The oneshot that I wrote for the latest winner, justsurvivesomehow, is online! It's called "So Says the Fox," and the prompt was for Finch to be upset about something and go into the woods alone, for Marvel and Cato to save her from a mutt (or some other creature), and for Marvel and Cato to be bromantic. Very fluffy.**

**As mentioned previously, now that this latest oneshot contest is concluded and published, I'm going to open up yet another one! Let's try to hit a total of 81 reviews this time? Otherwise, the rules are the same: each review between now and when I next update counts as one contest entry, so the more you review, the higher your chances. ;) Shortly before I post the next chapter, I'll randomly select one of my reviewers, who can then give me a oneshot prompt of their choosing—almost anything you could possibly want, very limited rules.**

**Warning: also mentioned previously, I'm now studying abroad, and I'm swamped with work, so I can't say with certainty when I'll next update Sweetest Mockery or when I'll be able to publish the next oneshot. Reviews will, of course, encourage me to work on fanfiction. *indiscreet hinting***

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you all for the PHENOMENAL response last chapter: ForeverTeamEdward13, Mikado X Goddess, dleshae, Les Spring Hamilton, UseYourInsideWings, bartmanskubs, Ro-Lee, Frick6101719, Klyson, artsymind, Swimming Trees, TessStark, and my lovely guest reviewer.**

**And thanks to those of you who kept reminding me to update. I've been afflicted by Real Life, so those reminders motivated me to work on this fic as soon as I had some breathing room. Sorry for the longer wait than usual for this chapter, but my study abroad program very much emphasizes the "study" part.**

**Now…enjoy the chapter. Really. Enjoy it. ;)**

* * *

Fifteen:

"Stop."

"Come on, Finch—"

"I really don't want to hear it."

"If you would just talk to Marvel, I think you'll—"

Finch turns around and glares at me, her stare so cutting that I'm silenced. "Enough. I mean it."

I back down. "Sorry," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to push you."

She sighs and lowers her gaze. "It's okay. But I'm really not interested in pursuing...something like that. It's complicated enough with you and Cato."

Now it's my turn to be on the defensive. "What is that supposed to mean?"

I never find out, because at that moment the whole camp suddenly flies into chaos, as people start gasping and shouting in alarm. I whirl around, fully expecting to see a full squadron of armed Peacekeepers. Instead, I see Cato and Marvel brawling, and it doesn't look like just a friendly bout of roughhousing. They're shouting at each other over the flurry of fists and punches, Cato about how Marvel is a treacherous shit, Marvel about how Cato is a crazy fuck, and other highly creative and expletive-laden names.

For a few moments, I just stand there and gape at them, half-disbelieving what I'm seeing. Then the two of them, uncaring of where they're taking their fight, almost barrel over Rue. I snap out of it and leap into action. "Thresh, help me separate them!"

The combination of my screaming at them like a harpy and Thresh physically pulling them apart distracts them, allowing for a ceasefire. The two boys pant heavily, glowering at each other. Cato has a bloody nose, and a large bruise is blossoming across Marvel's cheek.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" I demand.

"He started it," Marvel bites out. "Threw the first punch."

Cato just growls back at him before wresting his shoulder out of Thresh's grip and stalking into the woods.

I watch him go, frowning, before looking back at Marvel. "And you did absolutely nothing to provoke him?" Cato has a temper, but he's not going to sock Marvel in the face just for the hell of it.

The boy from One looks distinctly guilty.

"Marvel…"

He winces as he touches the bruise on his face. "Apparently he's been under the impression all day that you and I are secretly a thing. When I found out, I decided to, uh, prolong that impression a bit longer, and I made some suggestive comments about 'us.' But I had every intention of telling him the truth before long. But he punched me before I could."

My head falls forward, and I groan.

"Okay, it sounds really, really bad when I put it that way," Marvel says hurriedly, "but it seemed like a not-horrible idea at the time. Look, I know it was stupid, but I wasn't expecting him to _deck_ me."

At least I don't have to point out his stupidity for him. "Go have Finch clean you up."

"But...Finch—"

"She's a professional. She won't let anything personal come in the way of genuine medical concerns, as long as you don't bring it up first. So for fuck's sake, _don't bring it up._"

Marvel slinks off to Finch, who waits with medical supplies and a blank expression. I watch them for a short while, making sure Marvel is doing as I asked—and he is. Both of them operate wordlessly, except when Finch asks him a few curt questions as she prods an injury here and there—before heading to the sled to get out some medical supplies myself.

As I collect a cold pack and some nasal healing sprays—sparring is a regular part of Mom and Dad's training regime at home, so I've had experience dealing with bloody noses—I feel someone watching me. "What's up, twerp?" I say without looking up.

Cedric sidles over. "What was that all about?"

"Cato was angry and Marvel was dumb."

A gross oversimplification, but Ced nods anyway. "I knew Cato looked grumpier than usual earlier today."

I run my fingers through his grimy curls. As soon as the river clears up, I'm going to declare another bath day. "Sorry I left you alone up there with him." Maybe if I'd been there, I could have corrected Cato's misunderstanding, and his brawl with Marvel would never have taken place.

Ced shrugs. "It's fine. It was just quiet up there." He looks at the medical items in my hand. "Are you going after him?"

"Yeah, I guess." I wouldn't be surprised if Cato is still sulking and hasn't even bothered to try staunching that bloody nose yet. But I'm not worried. A bloody nose is nothing compared to the burns he got after the fire-bombs. What I am worried about is how he'll respond when he sees me coming, if he's still under the impression that Marvel and I are a thing. (Dammit, Marvel.)

"Don't sound so excited," Cedric drawls, with so much snark that he sounds almost exactly like Dad.

"Dweeb," I say fondly. "Once Finch is done with Marvel, you go hunting with him, Clove, and whoever else might want to come." No one else probably will, though.

Cedric sighs, looking glum. "What's the point? We're not going to find anything. All the game has either died or run away."

I know this. We haven't caught anything since the fire-bombs, except those two squirrels the day immediately after. "We have to try. You never know if today might be the day things start looking up." I chuck his chin, smiling gently. "Come on. You can even be in charge of the hunting group today."

"Me? Really?"

"Marvel's on probation, and I don't think Clove really cares, as long as you don't boss her around."

"But I get to boss Marvel around."

"Yeah, why not."

"Sweet." Cedric turns and starts to look for his bow, but he pauses. "Uh, don't be _too_ mean to Cato."

I look at him curiously. "Um. What?"

"I mean, maybe you _can _be mean. I dunno. You know better what happened with him and Marvel, maybe he deserves it. I dunno. Just—I mean—oh, never mind. Do whatever you want." He dashes off.

Well, I have no idea what that was about. Shrugging it off as one of Ced's many eccentricities, I make sure I have all the medical supplies that I need before squaring my shoulders and following Cato's trail.

Figuratively speaking. At first, it's no problem for me to walk in the direction I last saw Cato, but once I'm at the spot where he disappeared into the woods, I realize I have no idea where he went. Frowning, I look around, hoping for some kind of clue—a footprint in the ash-covered soil, some broken twigs, a signpost. Then I hear it: splashing at the river, the little _plops_ you make when you throw things into water.

Sure enough, I find him sitting on the bank of the still-polluted river, chucking pebbles in the water. It looks like his nose has stopped bleeding, but there's still blood caking the lower half of his face. Otherwise, he doesn't seem very injured. I don't think Marvel was trying too hard to get at Cato, anyway; Marvel just wasn't going to take the attack lying down.

As I approach, without even turning his head, he asks in a surly voice, "How's lover boy?"

I stop and sigh. "You're an idiot."

At that, Cato turns to glare at me. "An idiot for not seeing what's been going on with you and him? Yeah, totally an idiot."

Anger makes people irrational, I remind myself. _Don't snap at him. Don't make it worse._ "No, you're an idiot for thinking that Marvel and I have any kind of relationship that's beyond platonic. I have no idea what Marvel said to you today to give you the impression that we had something going on, but he was an even bigger idiot for not correcting the misunderstanding the instant he realized there was one."

Cato's face is wiped of all expression as he processes what I've told him. "I don't get it. He kept going on about how glad he was that you talked to him, that you said he was cute and whatever, that you liked him back, and—"

"Did he actually say that _I_ like him?"

"He kept going on about _Ember_ this. _She _that. _Ember_ said this. _She_ likes me."

Marvel needs to be more careful with how he uses pronouns. "It sounds like he accidentally conflated me with the other girl he actually likes, because that girl definitely isn't me. She was the person we were talking about today."

Cato still looks uncertain. "He definitely said that you called him cute."

"He was worried if the other girl would like him back, so I rattled off a list of some of his better traits." Few though they are, at least at this very moment.

He stares out at the water. "Right before I punched him, he started going on about how he was making out with you and how you guys were taking off each other's shirts. Guess that was him hamming it up after he figured out something was wrong."

I snort. "Definitely hamming it up. The only way Marvel will ever take off my shirt is if there's a medical emergency that requires it for some reason. And the makeout stuff was a joke between us."

"Well. Shit." Cato falls back from his sitting position so he's lying on the ground. "So I punched him for no reason."

"I dunno, it really was stupid of him to exacerbate the misunderstanding like that. Maybe he'll learn not to run his mouth so much next time. And it'll only be a few days before his bruises heal, I should think. He'll live." I sit down beside Cato.

"There really is some other girl in the pack he likes?"

"Yup. I was surprised to hear he hadn't told you. I thought you guys talked about stuff like that."

"We've all been distracted by other things lately," Cato mutters.

Speaking of distractions, that dried blood smeared on his nose and mouth is really off-putting. "How's your nose?"

"It's fine. Not broken. I would know if it was."

"Okay, well, you're bound to give one of the younger kids nightmares if you go back to camp looking like you ate a live animal or something. Sit up. Up, up, up."

As he sits up, I open a pack of wet wipes and remove a sheet. Cato is still as I clean the crimson splotches off his face, but he refuses the cold pack or any other medical attention. "I've had bloody noses. It's not bleeding anymore. Really, it's fine."

I can't deny his personal experience in this field—I've heard enough from him about the Academy life—so I reluctantly let it go. "But if it starts bleeding again—"

"I'll let you say 'I told you so' while you patch me up."

"Glad we agree on that." Then we sit there in silence. Awkward silence. Terrible silence. Until I can no longer bear it. "So are we not going to talk about why you were so angry at the thought of Marvel and me?"

Cato closes his eyes. "If we talk about it, there's no going back."

"We've danced around the topic long enough, don't you think?" I mutter, as my heart begins to beat in an unnatural rhythm.

Heaving a sigh, Cato gets to his feet and moves to stand by the river, which laps at the tips of his shoes. "If Marvel really had tried to go after you, I would never have forgiven him."

I stand too, but I stay where I am. "Is a...crush, really worth breaking up a friendship?"

"Not any crush, no." He kicks at the water, causing a splash. "But you're different. You always have been. And you forget, however well Marvel and I get along, we really haven't known each other for that long."

"Surely longer than you've known me, if only by a few hours?" I query.

"No, it's…" He hesitates. "I actually have known you, sort of, for a while. Years. It just wasn't two-way."

My brow furrows. "Not sure I'm getting your meaning."

Cato is pointedly refusing to look my way. "You and your family were constantly on television when I was growing up. Abernathy holiday specials, interviews with the Abernathys, it felt like you were everywhere I looked. I'm not stupid, I know that seeing someone on the TV screen is nowhere near close to actually knowing them. But it was still something. Am I creeping you out yet, or should I go on?"

As he speaks, I've been watching his expression, noticing how it seems to soften as he falls back on his memories. I almost feel like I can see the years vanishing from his face—years of hard training, years of the Academy shaping him to be the perfect Career, years of being told that he's meant for one thing and one thing only—until I am able to glimpse the very flawed, the very imperfect, the very _human_ boy that he once was and still is. I say quietly, "Go on. Please."

He begins to pace, still not looking at me. "I always gravitated toward the clips and interviews that featured you. It's hard to explain. You could have gabbed about the most tedious subjects, and I would still have listened to you. I wanted to hear every word you spoke, and I wanted to catch every face you made behind your parents' backs. I didn't even realize I had a certifiable crush on you until I was already in deep."

My throat is dry, but I'm still able to ask, "When did you realize it?"

"I was eight. You were six, and your front teeth were missing. But that didn't stop you from smiling all the time."

_Oh my God._ My hand drifts to my mouth as I recall that I did indeed lose my two upper front teeth right around the same time. Has he really been watching me for that long? _Liked_ me for that long? "But when we first met at the Tribute Center, you weren't very...fanboy. I could've sworn the opposite, honestly." Glaring at me like I'd killed his puppy. Comments about screaming. Elevator fights. Little things.

Cato winces. "I said and did some things I'm not proud of. I was… Before the Games, I tried for a while to stop liking you. It was around two or three years ago, when the other guys at the Academy started saying things about you like—never mind what they said. The point is, it made me try to distance myself from you. But on the train, when I found out you'd volunteered, and I saw you at the parade, it hit me. That _you_ were going to be in the arena with me. And chances were I'd have to face you, and I realized that I didn't know, when it came down to it, if I could actually kill you. So I thought, maybe if I made you hate me, that would serve as a reality check and help my feelings go away, and I'd be able to...to do what I needed to do. But every time I looked at you during training, I knew it wasn't working, and it made me angry and upset and...afraid. I talked to Marvel about it all one evening—not in so much detail—but he wasn't very helpful. All he had to say was 'That's rough, buddy.'"

So is _that _the secret Marvel tried to barter with? "But after we left the arena?"

His shoulders become less tense. "That first night, when we essentially started over, I...I was happy. It was a new chance to get to know you, for real. Then I fucked up by leaving, and ever since I came back, I've been so careful trying not to mess up again. So it really cut me when I thought Marvel had gone after you and you'd accepted him, especially since I've come to realize that whether I liked the Ember Abernathy I saw on TV or whether I thought I knew that girl doesn't matter. What matters is the Ember Abernathy I actually have spoken with and come to know these last few weeks. And I like her very much."

Euphoria wells up from my belly, past my heart, and up to my throat. I almost have to slap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from giggling like an idiot. I can't explain my glee, it just bubbles over. "Did you only just realize this?"

"I've known for a while. Since the fire-bombs. As I was running back to you, I just thought, _I can't let you die. You mean too much._"

"Why...Why didn't you tell me after you woke up?"

"I wanted to win you over fair and square. Not because of gratitude for coming back and saving everyone." His face turns slightly red. "I wanted you to like me for me."

Cato is still looking away from me, but my next words definitely get his attention. "Whatever you did, it worked."

His head snaps toward me. "Ember, don't joke with me. Not now."

"I'm not joking, you oaf. I...I…" His blue eyes are more piercing than ever. I swallow and try again. Why is this so hard? I clearly know Cato likes _me._ I have nothing to be afraid of. And yet, I feel hot under my skin, and my heart is pounding unevenly, almost as fast as the jumble of thoughts flitting through my head. _He likes me. He likes me. He likes me._ "There's this boy from Two. I've gotten to know him very well the last few weeks. He's brave and strong and clever. He's kinder than he thinks he is. He talks sense into me. He makes me smile. And I like him very much."

His face is slack-jawed with disbelief. The more the silence between us is prolonged, as he absorbs my confession, the more I worry that he might genuinely not believe me. Then, as I try to figure out how to make him see that everything I've said is true, a droplet of water lands on my arm.

"It's raining," we exclaim in unison, and we stare at each other again.

"We should… We should go back and sort out water collection. And stuff," I say quietly. As important as it is that we talk out..._this,_ between us, ensuring our water supply is even more critical.

"We should," Cato agrees, eyes averted. "You go on ahead. I'll be there in a minute. I just need a second to myself."

A second to do what? _What are you thinking? Tell me. please._ Uncertainly, I turn to go. But I only take two steps before realizing I can't just walk away without saying or doing _something._ So I turn back around and quickly head toward Cato, who is so lost in thought he doesn't realize I'm approaching him until I'm standing right in front of him. He's stupidly tall, but I catch him off-guard enough that I'm able to tug his head down with little resistance, so I can press my mouth against his.

His surprise is palpable, and just as he gave me no chance to react, that one time before he left, I break away, lips tingling, before he can do anything. "Now we're even," I quip, my voice steadier than I feel. And then I hurry away back to camp, not daring to watch his reaction, as the rain falls ever harder.

* * *

Ced trots away from Ember, silently vowing to stay the heck out of her boy stuff from now on. It's safer for him that way. He likes having all his body parts. His sister never liked it when he tried to nose into her business with Michetto Mellark, and there's no reason for him to believe otherwise now with Cato.

Clove is waiting for the little hunting group to assemble, observing with interest as Ember disappears from view. "Your sister going after lover boy?" Clove queries, faintly amused.

"I guess, yeah." Cedric isn't as intimidated by Clove as he used to be, after all the times they've hunted together. He's discovered that as long as he doesn't bug her, she won't do anything not-good to him.

"Oh, wait. Marvel's 'lover boy' now, too." Clove looks thoughtful. "I'll have to come up with a different nickname for him."

All these romantic entanglements going on are really confusing. Older people are so complicated.

Finally, Marvel trudges over to them, quieter than usual, after being patched up by Finch. The three of them head into the woods, for yet another fruitless attempt at hunting. Clove seems every bit as pessimistic as Cedric about the prospect of game, so she takes to chucking knives at the trees ahead and retrieving them as they pass by. Marvel is glummer than usual, his expression as overcast and grim as the sky. Ooh, maybe it'll rain. Based on the clouds overhead, it's the likeliest all week that it's going to pour, and even a little drizzle would be great.

And with that thought, Cedric begins to think about his _other_ older sister. There's a ten year age gap in between them, so he's never been as close to Rain as he is with Ember. He was only two when Rain first left for the Capitol. Ced supposes he has fuzzy memories of her brief, occasional visits home each year, during her school breaks. Rain has always been nice to him, bringing him little gifts and playing with him, when Ember would let her. But those visits stopped when she turned eighteen, and then she was gone.

(But she still sends him birthday presents every year. Same with Summer and Ember, but Ced knows Ember never opens hers. Mom squirrels the gifts away, holding onto them in case one day Ember does want them.)

Anyway, by no means does Cedric hate Rain, like Ember did these last few years (or at least, like Ember _thought_ she did). But he also doesn't feel nearly as close to Rain as he does with his other sisters. So he's not really sure what to think, after overhearing Finch the other day telling Ember that Rain is pregnant. In a few months, there's going to be a squirming, sticky, humanoid creature that poops and cries, and everyone's going to call him "Uncle Cedric" and make him hold it.

He's _twelve!_ He has no business being an uncle! He still isn't used to being an older brother, and Summer's been around for six years already. Ugh. Dad lets Summer get away with _everything._ Hopefully it won't be the same with his future niece or nephew. Ced has no idea what Rain will be like as a mom, if she'll be strict or lax or somewhere in between.

And he knows even less about Rain's fiance than he does about his oldest sister.

Cedric is jolted out of his thoughts as he realizes he's alone. Neither Clove nor Marvel is in sight. He's not too surprised about Clove—she tends to wander off on her own during their hunting expeditions. But Marvel usually sticks around to keep an eye on him.

He isn't worried for long before Marvel returns to view, cupping something in his hand. "Guess what I found?" the older boy exclaims, sounding much more like his chipper self.

Cedric peers into Marvel's hand. "_Strawberries?_ How did you find strawberries?" His stomach growls as he stares at the three small, bright red, round fruits.

"Something green caught my eye a little ways back. Turned out to be a strawberry plant that wasn't in the best shape. Only had these three bitty berries left." Marvel holds them out. "Want them?"

"Me? All of them? Are you sure?" Ced asks, even as he sticks out his hands. Marvel passes the strawberries to him, and Cedric, still somewhat disbelieving, tentatively strokes the fruits' bumpy, seed-laden skin.

Marvel shrugs. "I'm not fond of strawberries, but I didn't see the point in leaving them there. There's also no way three strawberries can be shared among twenty-four people, so you might as well have them." He winks. "Don't tell anyone. They'll think I play favorites."

Ced gazes at the strawberries in his palm. Maybe… Maybe he should at least share them with Ember. Or Rue. But...no, that wouldn't work. As much as Em loves strawberries, she wouldn't eat one before letting everyone else in the pack have a shot at it. And Rue would want to split the berries with the rest of their little group of friends, the other younger kids. But Ced doesn't want to share with the rest of them, just Rue.

...Darn it, Cedric is going to eat these strawberries, all by himself, and he's going to enjoy it. "Thanks, Marvel." So one by one, Cedric wipes the strawberries carefully on his sleeve (normally he would wash them, but alas, water shortage) and chomps down. The tart juice flooding his mouth tastes like the sweetest thing he's ever eaten, and soon all three are gone in the blink of an eye. Guiltily satisfied, Cedric closes his eyes, trying to hold onto that lingering strawberry taste for as long as he can.

"You all right there, nerd?"

"Shush. I'm savoring it."

Marvel laughs. "Well, okay then."

Ced focuses on the tartly sweet flavor again, fading all too quickly from his tongue. It makes him think of home, where he tags after Ember and her friends beyond the fence, and they crawl around in the bushes to pick strawberries. Em and Madge _love_ strawberries. They could devour an entire pail of berries between the two of them, if they were so inclined. But usually the berries end up being baked into something by Peeta, or Mom will dip them in chocolate at the sweetshop.

_Mom._ And with that, Ced is struck by a deluge of memories about his mother: the way she hugs and kisses him before school, the way she always smells like warm sugar, the way she watches him as he chatters about whatever is on his mind, as if nothing else in the world is more important than him and what he's saying.

Dad quickly follows, Dad and the comforting, gravelly quality of his voice, Dad and how he sometimes joins Ced in his little lab in their backyard shed, Dad and how he can't cook anything except scrambled eggs and toast (as they discovered when Mom once had to leave Twelve for a few days and Ember and he—Summer wasn't born yet—were left under Dad's care).

All the times Cedric pours experimental chemicals on Ember's garden to see the flowers' reactions. The times she finds out and shrieks at him. The quiet evenings when their whole family sits together in the living room, each with his or her own book, and reads silently for about an hour. Late nights tinkering on his projects. Going to bed, knowing that he's safe and well-fed and his family is just down the hall, and—and—and—

"Cedric?" Marvel's hand falls on his shoulder. "Why are you crying?"

Ced furiously wipes his face. "I'm not crying. I—something was in my eye."

Marvel doesn't seem to buy Ced's answer. "Hey," he says gently. "What's wrong? Do you want to get your sister?"

"No," Ced mutters. "She's with Cato."

"Ah. Right. Don't want to interrupt the lovebirds." Under his breath, Marvel adds, "Cato will probably punch me again if I do." Then, louder, "Well, if you want, you can tell me about it, and I'll say stupid things to make you feel better about yourself."

Cedric shrugs uneasily. "It's not that big a deal," he mumbles.

"Hmm. If you change your mind, let me know." Marvel leans his spear against a tree and sits on the ground. After a moment of awkwardly standing by himself, Cedric sits as well before resuming his moping. A minute later, Marvel begins to whistle absentmindedly.

The tune is catchy. Cedric can't resist asking about it. "What are you whistling?"

"Old mining song from District 1, from way back when people were actually sent into the diamond mines and such. We have machines that excavate nowadays, so no one really goes down there anymore. Much safer this way."

"Oh." Cedric frowns. "We still send miners down the coal mines. I wonder why we don't have machines like that." He thinks about Katniss and Gale's fathers, who were friends with Dad and who died in the mine explosion several years back.

Marvel doesn't have an answer for that. So he changes the subject. "You have any mining songs in Twelve?"

"Yeah. We have loads of old songs. But I don't know them very well. You'd have to ask Ember." Ced scratches his arm. "Our mom named us all after one of her favorite songs."

"Really? What song was that?"

"It's a really, _really_ old song that barely anyone even remembers anymore. Mom only knows about it because she read about it in an ancient book in Twelve's 'library.' She had to make up the melody for it. It's a very long song, and it tells a story about someone's lost lover. The chorus is Mom's favorite part, it mentions summer, cedar, ember, rain, and ash."

Marvel looks intrigued. "Huh. That's pretty cool. My parents just called me 'Marvel' because some great-somebody in my family had the same name."

The older boy's easygoing manner lulls Cedric into a sense of security. So he takes Marvel up on his offer, to let him know if he changes his mind. "Have you gotten homesick?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm sure everyone in this group has, except maybe Clove. But she's Clove."

"What do you miss?"

"Oh, you know, good food. A proper place to sleep. Maybe friends and family, just a little." Marvel grins. "How about you?"

Cedric shrugs. "Same, I guess." Except the friends. He imagines that, unlike him, Marvel was very popular in his home district. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope. Only child. Most families in One only have one or two kids. But I wouldn't have minded a little brother or sister to boss around."

"Not worth it. My little sister never listens to me."

"But you listen to Ember, don't you?"

Ced makes a face at him. "You listen to her too, don't you?"

"Ah, too true." Marvel bobs his head in agreement.

"She's bossier than Mom," Cedric grouses.

Marvel chuckles. "You'll live, I'm sure. So, speaking of your mother, your parents, I've been wondering for a while...what do they _do?_"

"Hm?" Cedric doesn't understand the question.

"What do they do the eleven months of the year they aren't mentoring? I don't imagine they have normal day jobs."

No, indeed they do not. "Uh...they train us. And when we're at school, I guess they run errands." To be honest, Cedric has never really thought about what his parents do with their time. He knows they don't just sit around at home, but he's never asked where they go and what they get up to in the daytime. He just assumed they did parent things. "What do Victors in One do? Same situation, right?"

"Socialites, all of them," Marvel answers blithely. "They also tend to go back to the Academy to teach. And shopping. They like shopping."

Oh. Not the same situation, then. Cedric can count on one hand the number of people in Twelve who can afford to socialize as a day job, and the Hob is the closest thing Twelve has to a mall. "What does _your_ family do?"

"My parents own a jewelry store. It's been in my dad's family for generations. We're quite popular with the Capitol." Marvel's eyes brighten suddenly, and he snaps his fingers in excitement. "Your sister. Not Ember, the older one."

"Rain?"

"Yeah, that one. She's engaged to the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, right?"

"Yes…?"

Marvel laughs, a little giddily. "You're not going to believe this. The Crane family has been patrons of our store for a long time."

Cedric blinks once. Then twice. Then a third time, for good measure. "You're right, I don't believe it."

"I swear, it's true. We haven't seen much business from them since old Mrs. Crane died a while back—that woman loved her brooches—but earlier this year, we got an order from Seneca Crane to resize and clean his mother's engagement ring. My dad offered to adorn it with some more gemstones, make it sparkle a bit more, but Crane passed. Can't fault him for it. It was a really nice ring as it was, very classy. I helped my dad work on it."

"Um. Wow." Cedric sits back and absorbs Marvel's tale. "_You_ worked on Rain's ring." He's pretty sure he glimpsed it the few times he encountered Rain at the Tribute Center, but he hadn't paid much attention to it. But if the ring didn't stand out in his memory, then that must mean it isn't very ostentatious, which is good, he supposes. The Capitol gets pretty overboard sometimes when it comes to fashion.

"I just helped resize and polish it. It's not like I made it. That credit goes to my grandpa, I think."

"It's still kinda cool." Cedric scratches his cheek. "So you're a jewelry expert?"

"You could say that."

Ced feels tempted to test Marvel's knowledge. "So...any thoughts on Ember's mockingjay pin?"

"Ah, yes, Maysilee Donner's famous pin. I do have a thing or two to say about it, but since the pin is gold, you'll want to talk to a goldsmith for a true expert opinion. Luckily for you, we have Glimmer."

"Glimmer?" Cedric repeats. "I dunno. She's not very nice. And I don't think she'd want to talk to me. She hates kids."

"Yeah, she does a great job pulling that off, doesn't she?" Marvel pats his shoulder. "You don't have to talk to her, it was just a suggestion."

Something wet lands on Cedric. When he looks up, he realizes it's raining.

"And that's our cue." Marvel stands, and Ced follows suit. "Let's find Clove and head back."

* * *

We're using all of our tent tarps for the rain receptacles, which means we'll need to disassemble the makeshift devices in order to pitch the tents. That means no overnight collection, so the longer we have them out now, the better. In the meantime, I assign people to keeping an eye on the water levels, and I pass out the ponchos amongst the supplies so no one catches a cold. Not long after I arrive at camp, Cato returns as well. Although he busies himself with sorting out food for dinner, I can feel his eyes constantly on me.

The hunting party also comes back before long—as expected, they didn't catch anything, but it's always worth a try. I notice that Ced is unusually quiet, but when I ask about it, Marvel tells me, "We talked about stuff that's probably given him a lot to think about. I'll keep an eye on him."

To think there was a time, not so long ago, when I didn't like Marvel.

Speaking of Marvel, we all watch with bated breath as he and Cato decide to get their post-fight confrontation over with, sooner rather than later. They're out of everyone's earshot, but we can all see them as they stand facing each other. At first, they emit tension so intensely that I'm worried another brawl will break out, but as they talk, they relax, and their stances grow less aggressive. In the end, they do that manly clap-each-other-on-the-back thing, and I take that to mean all is well. Just in time for dinner, too.

Food is still scarce, but spirits lift now that we have water and we can stop being thirsty. Some of the younger kids are even playing in the rain, and I smile to myself when Rue manages to drag a still-reticent Cedric into one of their games. The rain is falling hard enough that we're quickly running out of water containers, so we decide it's time to start setting up tents.

I brush a wet lock of hair aside—another plus of the rain, I feel cleaner now—after a bunch of us finish pitching an ostentatiously large ten-person tent. I highly doubt the Gamemakers included it in the Cornucopia because they thought a group of ten tributes would ally and share it. I suppose they were thinking more along the lines that the Career pack, which is usually four to six tributes, would enjoy having the space to stretch out. But whatever their reasoning, the tent's inclusion suits me, since it can shelter almost half of us. Everyone aged fourteen and below is already gearing to claim it, so clearly this will be the party tent.

The other tents are more reasonably sized two- or four-person tents. It all comes out to an even twenty-four (although we're leaving one two-person tent down, because two of us will be on watch at all times tonight, same as usual despite the weather), which is never the number of tributes who survive the Cornucopia long enough to get a tent. How much of this perfect accommodation was by chance and how much was Rain's doing?

As everyone else begins to squabble over who gets to sleep where, I check that the sole rainwater collector we left standing is functioning properly and that our supplies will be able to withstand the rain overnight. By the time I'm done, everyone has already grouped themselves into sleeping buddies, except the two on the first watch.

I poke around to see where there's room for me. First, I check the ten-person tent, where Ced is, but it's full. Finch and Vidal are in there, and I trust them to supervise, so I bid them all a good night and move on.

Both of the four-person tents are full. One of the two-person tents holds Thresh and Marvel, but even though it's a quite spacious tent and would easily fit three normal-sized people, the two of them are very big and tall guys. They need all the space they can get. I'd also prefer not to be squished to death in my sleep. That's twenty out of twenty-two sleeping spots taken, which leaves...

"I've got room."

My skin prickles, but not in a bad way. Cato is lounging beside the last tent, not even trying to hide the smug, self-satisfied look on his face.

"Don't tell me you kicked out everyone else trying to tent with you, just for my sake," I say wryly, feeling my face heat up and trying not to let it show.

"I still scare half the kids. I don't think anyone here really _wants_ to bunk with me." _Except maybe you,_ goes unspoken, but not unheard between us.

"Not even Glimmer?" I ask, half-teasing and half-serious.

He sighs. "Ember, you do realize that nothing really happened between Glimmer and me, right? The flirting was all fun and games, on both sides. We just thought it'd be a good show to put on for the cameras."

My brow furrows. "I could've sworn you guys were fighting like a couple that was breaking up, that first night in the arena."

"We were fighting about how I didn't include her in the ambush for the Peacekeepers following us. Neither of us mentioned anything whatsoever about relationships." Cato smirks. "Don't tell me you were jealous?"

I sniff, nose turned up. "What an unintelligent question." The rain pours harder, and I realize I'm getting tired of staying drenched. Deciding to get it over with, I dart into the tent before Cato can respond. Inside are an electric lantern and two sleeping bags, one of which I recognize as distinctly mine. I arch an eyebrow. "Somebody was confident about his sleeping arrangements," I comment as Cato follows me in.

Even sitting down, Cato's head almost scrapes the roof of the tent. "What's not to like about this tent? It's got me, and it's got privacy." He purposely leers, and I laugh.

"I dunno, I'm not seeing any romantic candlelight or rose petals. Not terribly impressive," I tease.

"That'll have to wait until we get to Thirteen."

Suddenly, I feel nervous again. "And...what exactly is 'that'?"

Cato looks at me steadily. "What do you want it to be?" he asks quietly.

"I...I…" I've never had to deal with this before. When Michetto asked me out, he straight up asked me to be his girlfriend. Right here, right now, Cato is asking _me_ to make the rules. And I have no idea what to do about it. To buy myself time as I think, I wring the water out of my hair. Cato watches me, or rather, he watches my face, his eyes dark and intent. My heart thumps. Never have I ever had anyone just stare at me with such focus, at such a close distance, and not care that I'm completely aware he's watching. I'm not even doing anything of consequence. The intensity of his gaze makes me feel as if the whole world has shrunken down to just the two of us.

"Ember," he finally says, something peculiar in his voice, "I really want to kiss you."

That _something peculiar,_ whatever it is, makes my stomach flutter nervously. My hands slowly lower from where they're twisting my hair. "The one earlier today wasn't enough?" I ask, but my heart is hammering so quickly that I can't muster my usual teasing tone.

"Not in the least. And I don't think it'll ever be enough." He leans forward, ever so slightly. "Can I kiss you, Ember?"

Heat flushes through my body, as does the distinct feeling of _want_. "Okay," I whisper.

The look on his face, as he moves to turn off the lantern, could be described as predatory, but the shiver it sends through me is far from fearful.

The tent goes dark.

Some light from the other tents seeps into ours, just enough that I can make out the outline of his body as he slowly, purposefully moves toward me. I can hear his quiet, steady breathing, and I am so focused on those oddly soothing sounds that I almost startle when he gently presses a thumb against my lips. That digit leaves a burning trail as it sweeps to the side until it reaches the place on my cheek where his hand can best cup my face. His nose brushes mine, and I'm seized by the irrational desire to see his eyes and what emotions they may hold.

That'll have to wait until next time, when we have more light.

The kiss starts from nothing, the simple mingling of our breaths. Then the pressure steadily increases, to the point that his lips have just as unceasing a hold on my being as does gravity, and then some. My head spins, the world spins, and I feel like I am falling, falling, falling, so it seems only natural that I end up on my back beneath the cage of his body. But unlike that time in the Tribute Center elevator, another time when I was trapped by him, I'm quite pleased about my current "prison."

Cato, I soon discover, is a huge tease. He seems intent on pushing me to the most extreme limits of my patience while he languorously takes his time exploring the curves of my neck and the curves of my body with his hands and lips, _barely there _touches that ignite flames and sparks electricity. It's so much better than anything I expected based on the silly romances that Madge and I used to giggle over. But those were little girls' daydreams. Now I'm less naive, less innocent, less romantic, for all I joked about candlelight and roses. This, right here in a tent, right now with Cato, is reality, and it's beyond anything I imagined before the Games, tucked safe and snug and dreaming in my bed at home.

I appreciate Cato's slow, steady pace, and I appreciate the patient experience with which he navigates my body. But it doesn't escape me that he's the one doing all the exploring, that he's the one satisfying his curiosity. Abruptly, I feel a spark of mischief, as I recall a close-combat move that I once learned from Mom and Dad, which I could use to gain the upper-hand should I find myself at the mercy of someone larger and stronger than I am.

I hear his grunt of surprise as he suddenly finds himself on _his_ back, and I'm triumphantly straddling him. A brief moment of stunned silence, and then he chuckles as he pulls me down toward him. I don't so much as see his smile as feel it. "That," he growls between kisses, "was really hot."

Now it's my turn to investigate his hard lines and sharp angles. I've always thought that his face, with his aquiline nose and chiseled features, reminds me of marble statues and busts from a very long time ago. Many such pictures populated the not-quite-legal books that Mom and Dad warned me never to tell anyone about, which contained "antiquated" ideas about democracy and republicanism and liberty. Cato has a classically proud and noble mien, and coupled with his large, muscular stature, it all comes together in a very impressive package.

A package that is currently at my disposal.

My fingers run along his neck, where I can feel his racing pulse, then eventually to the firmness of his chest and the hard planes of his abdomen. All muscle, little to no fat, the product of a lifetime of rigorous physical training. I would almost believe that I'm sitting astride one of those ancient stone sculptures—albeit a warm, breathing sculpture—if it weren't for his hands gripping my hips. Sculptures definitely don't do that.

Those hands dip beneath my shirt and start creeping up my waist. Suddenly, the _thud thud thud_ of my heart is too much for me, even as my body grows more excited. _Too much, too fast,_ part of me is crying out. _You just kissed him for the first time today, slow down. _"Wait."

His hands freeze just as they reach my bra, and they drop, letting my shirt fall back into place.

My face burns. "Sorry, I just…"

"Don't apologize." He scoops one of my hands from where they're resting on his chest and brings it to his mouth. "Too fast?" he murmurs, kissing the back of my hand.

"Yeah. We've kind of surpassed all of my previous romantic exploits, by far." If I recall correctly, I never let Michetto get anywhere close to beneath my top.

Cato rolls over so we're lying side by side, legs tangled together. "One step at a time," he promises.

"I'll hold you to that." I kiss him once more—more innocent than any other kiss we've shared tonight, but no less meaningful—and then we retreat to our respective sleeping bags. But it feels wrong to be curled up alone, when he's not even a foot away from me. So not too long later, I roll over with a huff and scoot my sleeping bag closer until I'm right beside him. He laughs quietly, and his hand seeks mine just as mine looks for his. Our fingers entwine, and eventually I drift off into the most restful sleep I've had so far on this journey.

* * *

**Ember and Cato only kiss as many times as there are reviews. Jkjkjk. Maybe. ;)**

**Brownie points if you caught the Avatar: the Last Airbender reference.**

**Reminder: The oneshot "So Says the Fox," written for the previous oneshot contest winner, is up! If Farvel floats your boat, I highly recommend you take a gander at it. It also might be the last Farvel thing for a while, so hopefully it'll tide over those of you shipping it until the good ship next appears.**

**And THIS oneshot contest winner is…dleshae! This time I can't give you guys a ballpark estimate of when I'll have this oneshot up because I'm so busy, but I'll do my best to have it and the next chapter of Sweetest Mockery up in a more-or-less timely fashion.**

**Thank you for reading, and please review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry for the long wait between updates. My study abroad program took a field trip to a completely different part of the country, and then I went places for spring break.**

**Thank you to Mikado X Goddess, ForeverTeamEdward13, bartmanskubs, jafcbutterfly, Frick6101719, Mely-the-Mockingjay, Ro-Lee, and DominaDeSerpensSorcha for reviewing! Every review encourages me to work on chapters. :)**

**We get a new POV later this chapter and hear from some different people! Enjoy.**

* * *

Sixteen:

Marvel, who had the last guard shift of the night, wolf-whistles when Cato and I emerge from the tent in the morning.

_I hate you,_ I vehemently mentally communicate to him.

News of our sleeping arrangements must have spread quickly, because there are some giggles and knowing looks at breakfast today. I do my best to shrug them off. It helps that Cato seems unperturbed, and rather than acting reticent about us in front of the others, he isn't afraid to be physically affectionate. It's far from exhibitionist, just a few touches on my arm or the small of my back as we move around during breakfast, and that little contact is enough to boost my confidence once more. And when we're back on the move, more often than not he's holding my hand, making me feel thrills of excitement that are more electrifying than anything I've ever experienced with another boy.

I have a turn with the sled, and as usual, I'm paired up with Finch, since the two of us have a good rhythm together. I'm about to relax into our usual companionable silence when, without preamble, she asks gravely, "Do you need condoms?"

My reactionary sputterings draw the curiosity of those around us. Lowering my voice, I hiss, "_What?_"

"We received those birth control injections before the Games, but I'm not entirely sure how they work, and it's better to be on the safe side," Finch explains clinically. "There's a surprisingly ample store of condoms among the medical supplies, so I hope there are enough for your needs."

I turn bright red, and I'm about to refute Finch when I notice the laughter in her eyes. "Why, you little…"

She flashes her ghost smile—or in this case, _poltergeist _smile would be more apt, considering how full of mischief it is—before returning to her professionalism. "In all seriousness, if you and Cato are advancing in your relationship, use protection. We can't afford to have complications in the wilderness."

Oh God, I cannot believe I'm having this conversation. "It's okay, Finch. We're not..._there,_ yet. And there are too many other things on our minds to be preoccupied by that kind of thing right now."

"You can use the word 'sex.'"

"_Oh my God._" I shoot her a nasty look, but I can't bring myself to really be annoyed by her. "Aren't you the one who got all hung up about bathing in the river?"

"My inhibitions are my own," Finch answers serenely. "A couple potentially having sex affects everyone. And there's nothing wrong with a frank conversation about sex. But if it's really winding you up, I'll drop it, and I'll just make sure to keep a stash of condoms in a readily accessible area for you, just in case."

_Gah._ "I'll take you up on that offer to drop it." I then desperately cast around for a chance in subject. Finch's comment about the birth control injections comes to mind, and that gets me thinking about how Jean suddenly got her period all that time ago and the trouble we had dealing with it. "So you're telling me that the Gamemakers would rather provide condoms than tampons in the supplies?"

"Yup. Shame, that, because tampons are multi-purpose."

Well, that too. I was thinking more along the lines of what the Gamemakers' choice in supplies implied about what they encouraged amongst the tributes (_children!_) in hopes of good television.

Later, I make my way back up front, to Ced and Cato. My brother is still as strangely quiet now as he was yesterday, but when Cato wraps his arm around my waist, Cedric is jolted out of his quietude. "Do you have to do that?" my brother asks irritably.

I frown. "What's wrong with you, Cedric?"

"Nothing's wrong with _me._ You guys are the ones being all PDA-y."

"Cedric!"

"What?" he snaps. "It's not like anybody wants to see it!"

I resist the urge to bite back at him. Instead, I ask Cato, "Can you take the map and GPS again? Cedric and I need to have a talk."

But my brother isn't very compliant in handing them over. "We don't need to talk, okay? I just want you to leave me alone."

"Cedric Abernathy, that is enough attitude from you." Frankly, he's acting rather like a brat right now. And as I think that, it hits me, the only other times I've ever seen him this distinctly bratty (that is, beyond the brattiness typical of preteens): when he gets sick. Ced does not handle illness well at all. His physical ailments tend to be expressed in his behavior.

So with this realization in mind, I'm far less wounded than I would be otherwise when he practically screams at me, "You're not Mom! Stop trying to be Mom! I wish she were here instead of you." He chucks the map and GPS at Cato. "I hate you!" He breaks off from the pack and races away.

I stare in the direction he's run, stunned by his vehement declaration, even though I suspect he's unwell right now. "I didn't see that one coming."

"Me neither," Cato agrees. "You might want to go after him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I should…" I take off after my brother.

It isn't hard to find him. Cedric didn't run far into the woods from the pack, so I quickly find him where he stopped and planted himself on the ground. He's quietly crying, and the pasty complexion of his face confirms my suspicion that he's feeling poorly. I kneel beside him. "Cedric, what's wrong? You can tell me."

"I don't hate you," he sobs, clutching his middle. "I didn't mean it."

"I didn't think you did. What's the matter, Ced?"

"I don't know. I don't know." His breathing is shaky. "I just...I just really, really don't feel well."

Then he throws up.

* * *

Ashton vomits. Madge can see that Gale is visibly trying not to lose his temper. "Why," Gale mutters, "_why_ are all of our fates in the hands of a drug addict who seems intent on killing himself by over-drinking?"

"He's going through withdrawal," Mrs. Everdeen explains as she hurries to Madge's cousin's side. "His body is trying to cope with the lack of alcohol and narcotics. He has at least been weaning himself off the last few months, if not consistently. So it's not as acute as it could be."

"Huzzah," Gale mutters.

"No offense, Madge," Katniss murmurs, "but I kind of wish we could leave him behind."

Madge has never been close to Ash—of all her cousins, she's closest to Ember, by far—but he's still family, even if she is embarrassed by him sometimes. She remembers playing with him when they were all younger, how Ashton always had the patience for Madge's physical ineptitude. You just don't leave family behind.

Also, he's the only one who knows how to get them to District 13 safely.

Nevertheless, she does sympathize with Katniss's sentiments and can't blame her overmuch. Madge hasn't had a meaningful conversation with Ash in years.

She remembers going to the Everdeens' place to watch the Games. Madge hadn't been able to stand the thought of watching Ember and Cedric fight to survive the Cornucopia bloodbath while she was alone in her house. Her mother, as usual, had been lying down in her room and unfit for company, and her father had been at work.

But the bloodbath never happened, and Madge could have sworn she heard Rain's voice yelling for Ember to run before the feed cut off. Any confusion she felt about the abrupt cancellation of the Games was immediately superseded by how Mrs. Everdeen leapt into action.

"Girls, pack your things, quickly," Mrs. Everdeen told Katniss and Prim.

"Mom? What's going on?" Katniss asked, bewildered.

"We have to leave the district. We'll be meeting up with the Hawthornes and the Mellarks. Hurry!" Mrs. Everdeen turned to Madge. "Madge, I'm sorry, but we won't have time to go to your house and get your things. We'll share with you, of course."

Madge's head was swimming with questions, but she sensed it wasn't the time to ask them. Instead, she said, "My mom, she's still at home. And my dad—"

"Your father will take care of your mother. Madge, everybody's safety is on the line, including yours, including my daughters'. Will you listen to me and do as I say until we get out of here?"

For lack of any other choice, Madge agreed. All of the Everdeens' worldly possessions, and their food, was thrown into knapsacks and suitcases. Madge helped carry them as they furtively hurried to the fence, which Madge had crossed not as many times as Ember and Katniss, but enough times that she wasn't too afraid of doing it then. Everyone was supposed to be viewing the Cornucopia bloodbath, as mandated, so although surely everyone else was just as confused about why it was no longer being broadcasted, they encountered no other people on their way to the fence.

Gale and his family were quick on their heels. Peeta's family took a while longer, since they were coming all the way from town. They could hear Mrs. Mellark harassing her husband about dragging them out of their home for foolish, absurd reasons. (Does it make Madge a bad person if she was chagrined to see that Mrs. Mellark hadn't been left behind?)

Mrs. Mellark dragged her feet when Mr. Mellark tried to coax her into crossing the fence, but the explosion quickly changed her mind. It wasn't a Capitol fire-bomb, as Mrs. Everdeen feared for a moment, but they found out later, once a blood-covered Ashton—who was anxiously clutching a gun—caught up to them, that the mayor had set it off to distract the Peacekeepers. But not even Ash knew what had happened to her father, or her mother. They waited in the edge of the woods as long as they could, but when close to an hour passed and there was no sign of Madge's parents, they had to go.

Madge tries not to think about what may have happened to them. It's easier if she doesn't.

During the first leg of their journey through the wilderness, Ash was surprisingly sober and coherent. But it quickly became evident that it was his adrenaline rush, from doing whatever it was he needed to do (Madge also tries not to think about the blood covering him, and the gun he still holds) before joining them, that was making him temporarily aware and cognizant.

So now they're watching him puke again, and Peeta is helping Mrs. Everdeen clean him up again. And all of them—at least, those who aren't children—are anxious for Ash to sober up for real, and fast. They need his brain to function if they are to reach District 13, and in all the time they've been out here in the wilderness, they've made little progress toward their destination. While they have an idea of the general area that Thirteen is in, an idea isn't enough to get them there. They need the directions and instructions that Aunt Maysilee and Uncle Haymitch placed inside Ash's head.

Madge sits on a log and tries to tune out Mrs. Mellark harping at her husband again. The awful woman is convinced that they've come out here for foolish and absurd reasons, and that they're better off going back to District 12 and reporting about the Abernathys to the Capitol so they won't be punished. Doesn't that woman realize she probably knows even less about the Abernathys than the Capitol does? Doesn't she realize the Capitol would probably punish them anyway, just to make a point?

Madge wonders what happened to her extended family, finding it somewhat more bearable than wondering about her parents. As far as she knows, her aunt and uncle, along with Summer, were smack-dab in the Capitol when the Games ended. But if Aunt Maysilee and Uncle Haymitch had the foresight to plan how to get Madge and everyone else out of Twelve, then surely they planned ahead for themselves and their youngest daughter.

Her cousin Rain, Madge isn't sure about. Like her parents, she would have been in the middle of the Capitol, but Rain is a Gamemaker, so she was probably in a different location than the mentors. Madge had liked her cousin when she was younger, looked up to her just like Ember did. But when Rain left for the Capitol and Ember started to resent her, Madge also distanced herself in solidarity. On the occasions that Rain came back to Twelve, Madge was always busy elsewhere, so she isn't as close to her elder cousin as she could have been in another world where Rain Abernathy didn't become a Gamemaker.

But Madge is aware that she and Ember have grossly misjudged Ember's sister. They all heard Rain's voice telling Ember to flee, and while Madge doesn't know the whole story, it seems evident to her that Rain would have gotten into a _lot_ of trouble for Ember and Cedric's sakes. If the Capitol caught her, then Madge is afraid of what they may have done to Rain.

Ember and Cedric frequently preoccupy Madge's thoughts. Ever since the Reaping, she'd done her best to resign herself to the fact that she would have to watch at least one of them die. Most likely it would be Ember, her cousin, her "twin," her best friend, the Firefly to her Magpie. It had been tempting to suppress such thoughts, but Madge knew that to live in denial would make it worse when the time came. So Madge had allowed herself such morbid thoughts—and they had led her down a dark path, unwittingly imagining the ways Ember might be killed.

Maybe a Gamemaker (not Rain; as much as Ember complained about Rain over the years, Madge never believed Rain capable of killing Ember) would send in those candy pink birds that almost killed Aunt Maysilee during her Games. Maybe the Gamemakers would turn the whole "Girl on Fire" thing on Ember and chase her into an inferno. Maybe the girl from One would corner Ember and put on a gruesome show for the cameras. Maybe that boy from Two would hunt her down, for the glory of being the one to kill an Abernathy.

But now...what's happening? What happened to Ember and Cedric? Did they manage to do as Rain commanded and run? If they did, where are they now? Madge has so many questions, but no answers. It's driving her mad. She, Katniss, Peeta, and Gale have shared their thoughts, but no one else knows anymore than Madge does.

Someone sits down beside her. "Hey, Madge."

Madge looks at him warily. "Michetto." She never thought that Ember and her ex-boyfriend, who didn't even last two months together, were a good fit for each other. But Ember had been curious and flattered when Michetto approached her, the first boy brave enough (or stupid enough) to get past Uncle Haymitch. So Madge figured the worst that could happen was that Ember and Michetto would break up, and Ember would sulk for a few weeks before getting over it.

And, as she usually was when it came to Ember, Madge was right. By the time of the Reaping, Michetto was practically ancient history.

Peeta's older brother hems and haws a little as he tries to find the words he needs. "So, since we're all kinda stuck here waiting for Ashton Abernathy to sober up, I might as well ask… Do you know what's happened to Ember? And Cedric," he adds hastily.

Madge frowns slightly. "I know just as much as you do about what's happened to them. I haven't been getting secret radio messages or anything."

Michetto nods glumly. "I just figured it was worth asking, since, you know, you're family and you've always been so close to her. Worth a shot, no harm in asking, I thought."

Her brow wrinkles. Michetto Mellark is usually suave and self-assured. This hesitant, unsure boy beside her throws her a little. It reminds her of when his brother, Peeta, is trying to talk about Katniss—

_Ooh._

Michetto confirms her epiphany when he continues, "I'm just really worried about Ember—and Cedric, of course, poor kid, but it was _Ember_ who was my girlfriend, so… I dunno, it's killing me that I have no idea how she's doing or where she is."

_You're preaching to the choir._ "I'm sorry, Michetto, but I can't help you there."

"It's just…" He looks hopeful. "Did she talk about me, after we broke up?"

Madge blinks. "Michetto," she says slowly, "we're in the wild, hiding from the Capitol and trying to get to District 13. Ember and Cedric are who knows where doing who knows what, and who knows if they're even alive or well. And you want to know about her feelings for you?"

"I know it sounds like I don't have my priorities straight," Michetto says defensively, "and I wouldn't be asking if we had more urgent things going on. But we're clearly not going anywhere, and we're clearly not doing anything, so I figured I might as well ask while we have the time. If there was actually something for me to do, I would be doing that."

Fair enough. Madge herself is only sitting around. She can't hunt like Katniss and Gale, her cooking is more likely to poison than nourish them all, and she hasn't a clue what to do to help Ash get better. Michetto is simply in the same boat as her. "It was pretty much the usual post-breakup talk. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Did she...want to get back together, or anything like that?"

Madge exhales. "Michetto, I won't break Ember's confidences for you."

"I'm not asking you to!" he says hurriedly. "It's just, during her interview with Caesar, she said there was someone special waiting for her back home, and I thought...maybe it's me?"

Mm, no. Madge saw Ember's face when she answered Caesar Flickerman. She definitely wasn't talking about Michetto. "Michetto, every time Ember is in front of the cameras, it's all an act. Everything she says and does is calculated. It's in your best interests to ignore what she may or may not have implied during the interview."

His expression crumples. "I think I'm in love with her."

She tries not to sigh. Why couldn't Michetto have unloaded this all onto one of his brothers? He has two. She doesn't even know Michetto. Madge doubts, whatever he may think, that he's _really_ in love with Ember. They only went out for six or seven weeks, and according to Ember, Michetto was more interested in kissing her mouth than hearing the words that came out of it. No matter how long or short a time two people are together, Madge simply can't see them actually falling in love unless they talk and communicate.

He might be in love with the _idea_ of Ember: daughter of two Victors, scion of one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the district, and charming when she feels like it. That, Madge can see.

Mrs. Hawthorne is calling everyone over to have lunch. Madge gladly takes the opportunity to end the conversation. "Look, Michetto, this is a matter that will have to wait until we see Ember again. I can't really help you right now. Besides, I'm sure that wherever Ember is, the last thing on her mind is a boyfriend or love or romance."

* * *

Finch stands up from where she's been kneeling beside Cedric. "Food poisoning. All the symptoms fit."

My brow furrows. "But Ced's been eating the same things as everyone else. Shouldn't other people be sick as well if it's food poisoning?"

She shrugs. "Maybe someone saw him eating something different."

I'll need to interrogate people in a moment. "How's he doing?"

"Food poisoning usually isn't a big deal. It takes anywhere from several hours to several days to pass. But he'll need plenty of water so he doesn't get dehydrated." She pauses. We're both aware that, while the river looks to be clearing up, thanks to the rain last night, it's not yet at the level we feel safe drinking. So water is still being rationed. But Finch moves on. "We've all eaten so little, the vomiting is more dry-heaving now. What I'm concerned about is his developing fever."

"Fever? Do fevers usually happen with food poisoning?"

"It happens sometimes. Not always, but sometimes."

I bury my face in my hands and try to breathe calmly. "What problems will that cause?"

"We need to make sure he's not too hot, not too cold. He also definitely should not walk. We can try putting him on the sled, now that Vidal's walking again."

Okay. It's okay. Everything will be...okay. "If we do that, can you stay near the sled to keep an eye on him? I'll ask Cato to excuse you from sled duty."

"Of course." Finch purses her lips. "Depending how long this lasts, Cedric might go through a lot of the water."

As Ced's sister, I want to say, _Screw that, give him whatever he needs._ But I'm reminded of what Cato said to me once, about how being a leader means making difficult decisions. "I'll talk to Cato about that, too."

He sees me coming. "How is he?" he asks, taking my hand in his.

His thumb brushing across my knuckles has a soothing effect. "Finch says it's food poisoning. I don't get it, because Cedric has eaten the same things the rest of us have eaten, but she seems sure about it. Can Finch get off of sled duty, so she can watch Ced?"

"That's fine."

"And…" I wince. "How much extra water can Ced have while he's sick?"

Cato is quiet as he does the calculations. "How long will he be sick?"

"Could be a few hours, could be a few days."

"A few days might be a problem, unless the river clears up fast."

"That's what I thought." I sigh. "Just when things were starting to get better."

"We'll figure it out." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll take another look at our water stores." Cato leaves to do just that, and I return to my brother's side.

Cedric's forehead feels warm, as Finch said it would. At my touch, he opens his eyes blearily. "Thirsty," he croaks.

"I'll get you some water soon," I promise. Even if I have to give him my share, I'll make sure he has enough. Finch has lectured me about making sure I don't forget to take care of myself, but Ced comes first. "Cedric, did you by any chance eat something outside of our rations?"

My brother is quiet for a moment. "I…I… Maybe?"

I'm not going to like this, am I? "Cedric…"

"I didn't think it would be a problem," he mumbles.

I sigh. "What did you eat?"

"Strawberries. Only three of them. They were really tiny, too."

"Where did you find strawberries?"

Cedric looks shifty. "A strawberry plant?"

Hmm. That shiftiness usually means he's not telling me everything. "When did you find this strawberry plant?"

"While we were hunting last night."

"And neither Marvel nor Clove mentioned that it might be a bad idea to eat unwashed fruit that you found in the wilderness?"

"They, uh, didn't see me."

_Really_ shifty. "So both Marvel and Clove turned their backs on you, and you—"

Ced is abruptly overcome by the urge to dry-heave, and I immediately forget about our conversation, too preoccupied with making him as comfortable as possible. When he finishes, he whimpers, "I want to go home."

"So do I, Ced," I whisper. "I'm sorry I can't be Mom for you."

He clutches my hand. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm glad you're here, Em. If you're here, that means everything'll be okay."

I smile faintly and brush his sweaty hair out of his face. "I'll do my best."

I recognize Cato's heavy footsteps coming from behind. "How're you doing, nerd?" he asks. Cedric closes his eyes and makes a face. "Thought so." Cato turns to me. "If we can move him, then we should get going. I can take him to the sled." I nod, he picks up my brother, and I walk with them to the sled, where Finch is waiting.

So is Rue. "How is he?" she chirps, peering at my brother worriedly. "Can I help? Does he need anything?"

Cedric recognizes her voice. "Go away, Rue."

The little girl looks hurt as she scampers off.

"That wasn't nice, Cedric," I scold him.

"I don't want her to see me like this," he whines. "I'm…sick, and gross."

Oh, what it is to be twelve-years-old and awkward and ignorant. "Ced, if you're trying to win over a girl—"

"I am not!"

"—then the last thing you want to do is tell her to 'go away,'" I continue, as if he said nothing. "It hurts her feelings, in case it wasn't obvious."

"But I'm _sick!_"

"You know something, Ced? If a girl is willing to come near you and help you and take care of you while you're sick and disgusting and unfit for company, that's a girl with worth fighting for_._" I pat his head. "You rest up. I'll tell Rue you're sorry and that she can come see you."

We're on the move again, and for the first time, Cato and I spearhead the group alone (you know, if you disregard the twenty-two people behind us who can see everything we do). He has control of the GPS and map, but he's still able to link his free hand with mine.

After I've twisted around to look back for the twentieth time, Cato sighs and asks, "Do you trust Finch?"

"Yes, but—"

"Do you trust that she knows what she's doing?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Do you trust that she'll send for you if anything serious happens?"

"Yes…"

"There isn't anything we can do for your brother. Overly worrying won't help him. Be concerned, but don't be driven to distraction. And he'll probably be embarrassed if you fuss over him in front of his girlfriend."

I smirk. "He wishes Rue were his girlfriend." Still, Cato's words have their desired effect, and I'm able to quash the constant urge to look behind me.

After a few moments of silence, he brings up a new topic. "So," Cato says quietly, "things with your exes never got serious?"

"Ex, not exes," I correct. "And no, they didn't."

"Do I get any hints as to how not to make the same mistakes, or do I have to play it by ear?"

I duck my head. "Well," I begin slowly, "you already have an advantage over my ex."

"And that is?"

I peek at him. "Things feel more...intense, around you, than they did him." Cato looks pleased by that. "You're also more interested—or at the very least, you make a good show of seeming interested—in what I have to say. My ex was more interested in the physical parts of our relationship. Not that there was too much of that going on." To be fair, I wasn't that interested in what Michetto had to say, either. Our relationship was doomed to fail. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure anymore why he asked me out in the first place."

"Well, kissing you _is_ nice." He looks at me and smirks. "_Very_ nice." I blush. "But getting to know what's going on inside that mind of yours, figuring out what makes Ember Abernathy _Ember Abernathy,_ is not an opportunity that any sane person should give up."

A small smile creeps up my lips. I don't open up to many people. Mom, Dad, Ced, Madge, Katniss, sometimes Peeta and Gale. That's it. Such reluctance is a byproduct of growing up surrounded by cameras, I think. So opening up about myself to Cato so much has been quite a leap of faith, and one that I don't think I'll regret taking. "Same to you. I remember what you said that first evening, about being more human than I thought you were. Now that I know you, I don't understand how I ever thought you were just a mindless rage-filled machine produced by the Capitol."

"That's an extremely flattering description," Cato deadpans.

"Come on, you know I don't think that _anymore._" I bump his arm with my shoulder. "Now, uh, it's your turn to spill. I don't have much experience, but I'm pretty sure guys who kiss like you do aren't exactly lip virgins."

Cato sighs. "Well, you know about the whole Academy-robs-you-of-all-free-time thing. Not much room for dating, period, let alone outside of the Academy. As I said, everyone at the Academy is aware that even if we send the two best tributes every year, at least one won't be coming back. Everyone at the Academy wants to be one of those two tributes someday. And most people decide at a certain age that they don't want to die without having experienced sex. So there are a lot of intra-Academy relationships going on. Nothing serious, because no one wants to get emotionally attached to someone they might have to kill one day, but very physical."

I look at him seriously. "Please don't tell me you guys have Academy orgies going on."

His short laugh sounds half-choked. "No, no orgies. Just a lot of hook-ups. And again, because of the whole emotional detachment, you tend not to get together with the same person more than a few times."

"So...you all sleep around, is what you're saying?" I summarize.

"Define 'sleeping around.' I'm in the single digits."

Single digits, huh? He's nowhere near Finnick level, that's for sure. (But Finnick can't really be blamed for his obscene number of sexual escapades. That's on Snow.) "But you're still an _emotional_ virgin?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You seem quite fixated on the word 'virgin,' Ember. Is there something you're trying to tell me?"

"_Nooooo,_" I draw out, trying not to blush again, trying not to think about my conversation with Finch earlier today.

Cato doesn't look convinced, but he answers my question. "No, I've never been with a girl long enough to call her my girlfriend, if that's what you're getting at. Never gotten attached or felt anything that could be mistaken for 'love' back home. Actually, I've always thought that I would end up like my father: win the Games, come home, find a nice girl whom I'd be content with, raise a family, and lead an overall emotionally satisfactory life. Now, though...I don't think I would be happy with just that anymore. I want more than that."

My cheeks betray me and heat up. "Not thinking of some beautiful girl back in Two, are you?"

"Don't be obtuse, Ember, you know I'm talking about you."

My heart skips a beat. "Wow. First kiss yesterday, and now you're borderline proposing. Kinda fast, don't you think?"

"My experience with you, Ember, has made me realize that emotions don't really follow a set timeline," Cato says dryly. "They happen whether or not you want or expect them." I swear, his face is the slightest bit pink as well. He changes the subject. "I could've sworn I'd kissed you before yesterday. Remember that time when I fucked up and tried to leave?"

"That was not a kiss," I say loftily. "That was you assaulting my mouth."

"Hm. Kind of have to agree with you there." His eyes darken as he looks at me again. "Can I make it up to you?"

I try not to smile. "Last night in the tent wasn't enough?"

"I like to pay my debts thoroughly."

My skin tingles. "I…" Something in the distance catches my attention. "Cato, do you see that?"

He looks. "Smoke." A thin wisp is rising through the air above the tree line (which is starting to look much less burned and much more green), and the more I look at it, the closer it seems.

We stop the pack. The majority consensus is that whatever is emitting the smoke is probably something man-made. A campfire, for example. Which leads to the following question: who made the fire?

"I'll sneak ahead and check it out," I say.

"I'm coming with you," Cato responds immediately.

Marvel also volunteers to come, as does Clove. But we leave behind Thresh and Glimmer and the others who are on the more capable side, to keep an eye on everyone else.

The foliage steadily grows denser and more verdant. I can almost see the invisible line that the Capitol drew, to decide where they should stop dropping fire-bombs. I hear a squirrel somewhere, which gives me hope that we'll have some game to eat soon—though hopefully we'll be able to get by without Ced's superhuman hunting prowess.

"Fuck!"

The rest of us whirl around to see that somehow, Marvel is hanging upside-down from a tree, a cord taut around his ankle. After a moment of stunned silence, I clap my hand over my mouth to cover a giggle threatening to escape. Cato smirks, and Clove flat-out cackles.

"Gee, thanks, guys. I can feel the sympathy and solidarity oozing out of your pores," Marvel shoots at us, but his displeased scowl isn't as intimidating when he's literally trying to wriggle his way out of his mess.

"You're such a drama queen." Clove lazily chucks one of her knives at the rope suspending Marvel, severing it and causing our friend to land in a heap on the ground. She goes to retrieve the blade as Marvel picks up himself and his spear.

I manage to sufficiently quash my humor to ask him, "How did you even get up there?"

He throws his hands in the air. "I don't know! I think I must've stepped into a trip wire or something."

"Ten-year-olds at Two know how to avoid trip wires," Cato jabs.

Marvel makes an obscene hand gesture. "Does this look like an arena to you? Were _you_ keeping an eye out for trip wires, Mr. High and Mighty?"

The argument between these two could get pretty amusing if allowed to continue, but I think better of it and step in. "Squabble over who's the better Career later. You guys realize that whoever set up that trap is probably the same person who's making that smoke, right?"

Clove, who's returned by this point, remarks, "I'm guessing we shouldn't expect a warm welcome, then."

"Maybe not," I agree. "We'll need to be careful."

We proceed with more caution but see no more traps like the one that snatched up Marvel. As we draw nearer to the source of the smoke, the foliage grows less dense. We duck behind some shrubs at the edge of the clearing where that smoke-source is.

I poke my head around the bushes. My jaw drops. "Holy shit."

The smoke is trailing out of the chimney of a log cabin. Also in the vicinity are a stack of firewood, what looks to be a well, a garden of what are probably vegetables, and a wooden pen holding multiple creatures that are gently clucking.

"Holy shit," Marvel echoes.

"Damn," Clove agrees.

Cato just stares.

"Should we see who lives there?" I wonder. "If there's a fire in there, then either they're home or they're not too far away. Maybe we should wait and see if someone comes out or comes back." What kind of a person lives—alone, I presume—in the wilderness, beyond the reaches of the Capitol? Are they more likely to be friend or foe? Obviously, I'm hoping friend. The well means water, and not gonna lie, whatever birds are in that pen sound kind of delicious.

We agree to lie in wait. Marvel leaves to tell the others what we've found so far before rejoining us. ("Didn't get tripped up again, I see." "Shut up, Cato.") I don't see or hear any sign of life in the cabin, so most likely its owner is away. I hope we don't have to wait long for him or her to come home. Those clucking birds sound yummier by the minute, and my throat dries up every time I look at the well.

About an hour passes, and finally, we see him. He looks to be a middle-aged man, of average height and size, with an overgrown beard, as expected upon the face of someone living in the wild. His clothes look like they might be made of animal skin. But what really catches my attention is the wicked-looking long knife swinging from his belt.

None of us moves or makes a sound, but he somehow senses we're there regardless. "Who's there?" he barks, in a voice that sounds hoarse from disuse. He raises his knife. "Show yourself!"

The four of us exchange looks. If there's only one of him and he proves to be trouble, then we can take him. Marvel has his spear, and Clove has her knives, not to mention the guns she and Cato keep on their persons. He'd never get close. Slowly, we all rise to our feet.

"Good afternoon," I say calmly. "We were passing through, and we—"

He drops the knife on the ground. "Maysilee?" he gasps, wide-eyed, stumbling toward me.

Cato takes a step forward. I stare at the man. "How do you know my mother?"

"Your mother—of course, the hair, it's different, of course," he mumbles. "Maysilee's daughter. Yes, I see it." He beams giddily, showing his yellowed teeth. "My name is Alasdar. Alasdar Greenburn. Maysilee might have told you about me."

It takes me a moment to place the name, because contrary to his expectations, Mom has not ever mentioned the name _Alasdar Greenburn,_ that I can recall. But when I do identify him, my eyes widen. "You… You're…"

"I'm the first ever Victor from District 12. I mentored Maysilee and Haymitch."

* * *

**...Plot twist? :D**

* * *

**I've managed to write the bulk of the oneshot for the latest contest winner, dleshae. It's an Ashton-centric piece with a good dose of Haymitch. Hopefully I'll have time to fine-tune it this week, so keep an eye out in the near future for a new little fic!**

* * *

**As always, reviews are very much appreciated. They fuel my writing. *extremely unsubtle wink***


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you so much to dleshae, Swimming Trees, ForeverTeamEdward13, Ro-Lee, bookangel1624, Mely-the-Mockingjay, IAC97, and my lovely guest reviewer. **

**See the end notes for announcements about new stories, and about my new "rewards program." :D**

* * *

Seventeen:

He's a mess, Seneca realizes. Ever since he came back from meeting Rain in her cell, he's been holed up in their apartment. Hasn't set a foot outside in ages. His hair is standing up all over the place from the countless times he's run his fingers through it, his beard is growing out of its carefully maintained design, and his clothes are wrinkled and rumpled. And his personal hygiene has seen better days.

At least he's only been at the liquor cabinet two or three times. That means his thoughts have only grown unbearably dark two or three times—one of those times being now.

Seneca feels guilty bringing his glass of brandy with him into this particular room. It seems rather sacrilegious, taking alcohol inside a nursery. Even if it looks like said nursery will likely never be used.

They'd recently finished painting the walls with what Rain called Gentle Candlelight but what Seneca called Yellow. And yes, _they._ Although they could have easily hired an interior decorator to furnish the nursery, Rain wanted to be hands-on. Her own parents, she told him, had painted the bedroom walls and chosen the bedding and picked out the stuffed animals for each of their children. She wanted to do the same for hers. So Seneca, who has always been more accustomed to fine-tip brushes and canvases (and that's on the rare occasion when he even chooses paint as his medium), rolled up the sleeves of his crisply ironed shirt, picked up a roller, and began to slather Gentle Candlelight on the walls of their spare bedroom.

The two of them had been planning on steadily adding furniture to the room over the months of Rain's pregnancy. So far, there is only a crib, a rocking chair, and a short bookshelf already stuffed to bursting with picture books and nursery rhymes—and there will only ever be a crib, a rocking chair, and a bookshelf. Because for all Snow's pretty, oily words, Seneca cannot believe that the president will hand over Maysilee and Haymitch Abernathy's grandchild to him and let that be the end of it.

Seneca will be lucky if his daughter even takes her first breath in this world—and that thought makes his heart feel like someone's taken hold of it and is squeezing the life out of it.

He wraps his fingers around the upper rim of the crib. It isn't one of the fashionable, sleek, modern cribs that are so popular in the Capitol today, equipped with the ability to automatically rock the baby and play soothing music, but an old-fashioned wooden one that reminded Rain of home. He gazes at the bare mattress, trying to imagine a squirming pink bundle cooing up at him, but then finds that image too painful to think about and looks away.

Sitting on top of the low bookshelf, instead of in its rightful place amongst its alphabetically-ordered brethren, is a slim volume entitled _Who Loves Me?_ Rain's artistry is different than Seneca's, and her style suits her hobby of creating books. Every word, every illustration in this particular book was done by her hand, as was the binding of every page. The cover is graced by a sweet drawing of a girl around two years of age. Rain determined that their daughter would look like him, so she painted black hair and blue eyes. But Seneca hopes—hoped—hopes that their daughter will resemble her mother, inherit Rain's golden hair and hauntingly beautiful gray eyes. Within, each page is dedicated to a different member of their child's family.

_Grandpa loves me. Grandma loves me. Uncle Ashton loves me. Aunt Ember loves me. Uncle Cedric loves me. Aunt Summer loves me._ Following each of these declarations are explanations why Rain's family loves their grandchild or niece. _Grandpa loves me because I am brave and adorable and smart. He spoils me rotten, even though Mommy tells him not to._

The last few pages are for him and Rain.

_Mommy loves me because I am the answer to her hopes and dreams and wishes. She always hugs and kisses me, and she is always there when I need her._

_ Daddy loves me because I am his sweetheart and the center of his world. He always does what is best for me, and he will always keep me safe._

The book falls from Seneca's hands onto the plush carpet. He sinks into the rocking chair, which was supposed to be where Rain would sit at night to nurse their daughter—another maternal action that is unusual at the Capitol, but another that Rain insisted on doing, even though there are machines that will simulate breastfeeding and allow her to sleep through their daughter's fussing.

_What were you thinking, Lorraine?_ he wonders, burying his hands in his unkempt hair. _Why did you throw everything away? And to what end? A dead sister and brother? Why bring our daughter into this?_

Whatever Snow said about not needing to harm Rain, Seneca knows, _knows, _that the president will not abstain for much longer. He's heard how the war isn't going as well for the Capitol as originally predicted, and there's no way Snow will _not _use the last Abernathy in his possession to his advantage. Seneca's dark mind runs rampant with horrifying possibilities, the worst of which have to do with the life growing inside Rain's belly. _Was saving your siblings from the Hunger Games worth what Snow may do to our daughter?_

And then it occurs to Seneca: how much worse, truly, could Snow do to Rain and their daughter that Seneca and other Gamemakers in the past have not already committed against other children? How many parents has he traumatized, with the violent, gruesome nature of their sons' and daughters' deaths? How many lives has he agonizingly stolen, and _smiled_ for it?

Eight years. Eight years Seneca has been a Gamemaker. Twenty-three dead children each year. Excepting this year's Games, that adds up to one hundred and sixty-one lives in which he had a hand snuffing out. One hundred and sixty-one children, like his unborn daughter, whose parents hoped futilely, as he does now, that they might survive against the odds.

Rain only became an official Gamemaker last year. Seneca remembers how after every Gamemaker-induced death, he had to find her hiding in a corner, silently weeping. He didn't understand her horror and sorrow then, but he comforted her anyway.

Now he knows.

_Is this what you meant all those times you told me I "wouldn't understand," Rain? Was I not human enough then? Would I understand now? How shameful is it that I only feel empathy now that I have something personal at stake?_

Seneca picks up the fallen book. _Daddy loves me,_ the page says. _He always does what is best for me, and he will always keep me safe._

But how? How can he do that? How can he protect his daughter? How can he protect Rain, his fiance (the love of his life), if she is deep within Snow's clutches?

What can he do?

* * *

I stare at the supposed Alasdar Greenburn, first ever Victor of District 12 and mentor to my parents. "But...Alasdar Greenburn is dead. Everyone says he died years ago."

Something dark flashes across his face. "No, I didn't die, clearly. I left Twelve. It's a long and...quite painful story. You wouldn't want to hear it. And it's hard for me to think about. Please don't ask." He frowns at his feet for a moment before looking back up at me, smiling awkwardly. "I can barely believe my eyes! You're the spitting image of Maysilee. Except the hair, of course. Your name's, ah…" He snaps his fingers. "Ash and Rain were the twins. You're too young to be Rain, and I remember her being blond...so you must be Ember! Wow. You were a newborn when I last saw you."

Why did he leave Twelve? Why have my parents never mentioned him? It sounds like he was close to them when I was born, so why did they never utter a single word about him? All these questions threaten to burst past my lips, but I force myself to respect his request to leave the matter alone. Our need for other things that Alasdar can provide us, like food and water, is greater than my need for information. "So you left Twelve, and now you're here alone in the wilderness?"

His head bobs up and down. "I wandered around the outskirts of Panem until I found somewhere I could carve out a nice little life for myself. Lonely, but nothing I could do about that. And better alone than under the Capitol's thumb." Alasdar looks at my companion curiously. "So what're you and your friends doing here?"

I look to Cato, Marvel, and Clove. All three of their expressions are unreadable, but I imagine they're still assessing Alasdar. Not even I know what to make of him yet. "It's also a long story. But probably not as painful as yours."

"Ember, can we talk?" Cato murmurs, and the four of us draw a distance away from Alasdar. "I don't know if we can trust him."

I don't know about that, either. Even if he is who he claims to be—and I think he is, considering how well he seems to know my family—we don't know anything about Alasdar Greenburn, or what he's been up to during his years in the wilderness. For some reason, Mom and Dad never showed any of us Alasdar's Games during our training sessions. Never mentioned him, not once. Never gave any sign that they even had a mentor, or that they had a predecessor. I wouldn't even know the name "Alasdar Greenburn" if it weren't on the Capitol's official list of past Victors.

"We could just kill him," Clove suggests. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about him trying any funny business. And we could use his stuff for free."

I'm pretty sure straight-up murdering your host without provocation is frowned upon in most societies. "We can't go around killing everyone we come across because they _might_ be a threat," I argue. "I'm not saying we should blindly trust Alasdar, but you saw his well. You saw whatever birds he has in that pen. You saw that firewood, that little cabin. Whether or not we trust him, we need him. We're all hungry and thirsty and lost. We should at least give him the option of helping us and see where it goes from there. For all we know, he might even be willing to give us help without demanding compensation."

"Ember has a point," Marvel chips in. "There are twenty-four of us and one of him. Not much he can do against us. And who knows, he might know something useful—say, the locations of any more traps he may have, or if any Peacekeepers patrol nearby—that we'll lose out on if we just kill him."

Cato purses his lips. "We can't turn our back on him," he warns.

"We won't," I assure him. "Like Marvel said, there are twenty-four of us. Plenty of us to watch each other's backs and to keep an eye on him."

Once the four of us all agree on a course of action, we turn back around to face Alasdar again. "Alasdar," I start, and he looks at me with bright gray eyes. Definitely from the Seam. "Do you think we could ask the rest of our friends to join us here? There are a lot of us, I'm afraid."

"Not a problem. I have plenty of room."

"Any more traps we should watch out for?" Marvel asks him a little suspiciously.

Alasdar blinks at him. "Did one of you get caught in one?"

Clove snickers as Marvel reluctantly confirms.

"I don't have that many. They're mostly to catch the occasional big critter—bears, wild dogs—that would give me trouble otherwise. But just in case, I can come with you to get your friends, make sure you don't accidentally run into another."

"We'd appreciate that," I tell Alasdar gratefully.

The rest of the pack migrates over, and Alasdar whistles as he counts heads. "Twenty-four of you. Twelve boys, twelve girls," he remarks off-handedly. Then his eyes gleam with realization, the cogs in his mind turning. "It's summer. Summer is Games time." He gapes at me. "Don't tell me you all were the tributes this year."

I smile weakly. "We were."

"...I don't believe it. That means you escaped from either the Capitol or the arena somehow, and both are close to impossible."

"It was the arena."

He looks impressed. "Geeze! You have got to tell me how you pulled that off."

The sled comes into view. Cedric still lies there, asleep. Finch doesn't look concerned, so I take that to mean he isn't in too bad a shape, probably just letting his batteries recharge, and I force myself not to run over. "That's my brother, Cedric. He's twelve. They reaped him this year."

Alasdar stares at Ced. "Wow," he says softly. "He looks just like Haymitch."

"Yeah. Everyone says that."

"He sick or something?"

"Food poisoning. Not terrible, but he's not well, either." I hesitate. "Alasdar, could we...infringe on your hospitality? For a few days, max. We need a little time to recuperate before we go our way again."

"Of course. Anything for Maysilee's kids." He scratches his bristly beard. "Where exactly are you on your way to?"

Finch wanders over to stand beside me as I begin to explain. "Now that we've escaped the arena, we're considered fugitives, so we can't hope that the Capitol will just let us go home."

"So…you all are settling in the wilds, same as me?" Alasdar asks, perplexed.

I look at Finch. She gazes back, and I can practically hear her yelling (not that I've ever heard Finch yell) at me to be careful before I turn back to the older man. "How much do you know about what goes on in the rest of Panem, Alasdar?"

He snorts. "Honey, I barely know if that old bastard Snow is still alive and kicking—I assume he is, because his ilk are the kind that live forever as pains in our asses. Once in a blue moon, I'll make a foray over to District 5 or 10—the nearest towns in either are more or less equidistant from here—to see if I can nab a few things they won't miss. Stuff they've tossed out or left behind, or anything that's just begging to be stolen, like the cow from Ten that I made off with once. But I never stick around long enough to chat up anyone for information. Besides, if anyone saw me, they'd take one look at me and raise hell." Alasdar gestures at his unshaven beard, his long hair, and his rough leather clothing, the last perhaps made from the hide of the aforementioned cow. "All I know is, things seem to be pretty much the same as when I left Twelve. Capitol still treats the Districts like shit and all that."

I clear my throat. "Yes, it was still like that until very recently. Things have changed lately, though."

"Changed how?" Alasdar wonders, before his gaze wanders over to the pack. He notices how some are staring at the cabin in awe and disbelief, how others are eyeing the well and vegetable garden and bird pen with equal amounts of want. "You all must be hungry and thirsty. Let's rustle up a meal, and you can tell me the whole story while we eat."

It turns out the birds in his pen are what I recognize as a breed of wild turkey, and what Rue and Thresh call groosling. Alasdar assures me that they reproduce so speedily that he's usually hard-pressed to keep the population in line, so I don't feel that bad when he picks out a few for lunch, along with some of their eggs. Vidal and several others help pluck and clean the birds, while Vidal's district partner, Araceli, takes charge of cooking the eggs. A few kids are drawing buckets of water from the well.

Meanwhile, Alasdar directs Cato, Finch, and me into his cluttered cabin. There, we put Ced, sound asleep, on a bed whose thin mattress seems to be stuffed with groosling feathers. Alasdar shakes his head as he gazes at my brother. "I just can't get over how much he looks like Haymitch." He looks at me again. "How are your parents, anyway?"

"I'm...assuming they're safe." My curiosity is aroused by the contents of the cabin. An entire corner is heaped almost to the ceiling with junk and tools. Ropes, nets, tarps, all sorts of carved and whittled wooden knickknacks.

"I have a lot of time on my hands." Alasdar picks up one of the ropes. "Made these from this plant that grows in the woods, then made the nets out of these. I've made so much of this stuff, I'm practically an expert now. You're welcome to help yourself to anything you might find useful." He sets the rope down. "Let's get something to eat, and then we'll talk about what you lot have been up to."

I check in with Finch before we go. "You don't have to stay here with him. You deserve a break."

She shakes her head. "Someone should be here if he wakes up and starts dry-heaving again."

"I can do that."

"You're of more use out there, I'm of more use in here. No point sending me somewhere else if Cedric is the only one currently with medical needs."

I concede to her point. "All right. Thanks, Finch. I'll get someone to bring you food and water."

A few moments later, when I ask for a volunteer, I'm not surprised that Marvel is first to raise his hand.

As we dole out portions of groosling, Alasdar explains how he usually eats in his cabin. But we're obviously not all going to fit inside, so everyone settles down outside, forming small groups and chatting with contentment that I haven't heard since before the fire-bombs. Alasdar sits in a group comprised of myself, Cato, Marvel, Clove, Thresh, and Glimmer.

"So, you're right, Alasdar," I start, "about Panem being the same as when you left District 12. Up until several weeks ago, the Capitol still ruled everyone with an iron fist, the Games were still going on, everything. I don't know how much you remember about Rain, but she went to the Capitol when she was twelve and eventually became a Gamemaker."

Alasdar frowns. "Well, Rain always was a clever girl. But to join the Capitol?"

"It turns out she's been on our side this whole time. She's basically been under very deep cover for the last few years, waiting until she could use her position to help our family somehow." I neglect to mention my sentiments toward her during that time. Not something I'm proud of.

"And Ash? What happened to him? He was a bright kid, too."

"They reaped him when he was twelve."

Alasdar starts to give his condolences.

"And he won."

His jaw drops. "He won. At twelve! _Twelve!_" Alasdar chortles. "Wouldn't expect any less from Maysilee's eldest. Damn!"

"Yeah. Youngest ever Victor and all that. But he hasn't been well. He's had...problems, since he won. He stayed behind at District 12 this year, instead of coming to the Capitol, so I don't know what's happened to him." Or anyone back home. Madge. Katniss. Peeta. Gale. Uncle Basil and Aunt Marjorie.

"Why would something have happened to him?" Alasdar queries.

"Mom, Dad, Rain, and a few others anticipated that this would be the year the Capitol would try something with me, or Cedric, or both, in the Reaping and Games. So they worked on a plan that would ensure we both got out of the arena safely."

Alasdar scratches his beard in thought. "But even if Rain is a Gamemaker, I don't see how you all could've had the resources to do that. Your family versus the Capitol? I'm sorry, but that doesn't sound like a fair fight at all."

"My parents didn't have the resources. But District 13 did."

"District 13? Honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there are only twelve districts."

"That's what we thought, too," I agree. "But they've been underground for the last seventy-some years, waiting until they could rally the Districts against the Capitol. And that time is now. We haven't been as up-to-date as we'd like, being in the wilderness and all, but we've heard that uprisings have been sparking throughout the country, ever since Rain got us out of the arena. But the twenty-four of us aren't involved in that. We're just trying to get to Thirteen, since we can't go back to our homes in the Districts. The Capitol wants us dead. They fire-bombed the wilds last week to try to exterminate us."

"So _that's_ what that light show was all about!" Alasdar exclaims. "I was worried those bombs would hit my place, they got a lot closer than I was comfortable with. And you all survived that?" He rubs his eyes. "Wow," he mutters.

"And that's pretty much the whole story," I finish. "We've been struggling a bit lately. The fire-bombs polluted the river and scared away the game. So finding you was very serendipitous."

"I'm glad you lot found me, too." Alasdar grins. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. The company's a nice change. You don't realize how alone you are until you aren't."

"Thank you, Alasdar," I say sincerely. "For everything."

He gives a quirky little bow, excuses himself to work on chores, and wanders off.

"Weirdo," Clove mutters.

"He's eccentric," I agree. "But he must have been living out here alone for at least a decade. That kind of loneliness is bound to have adverse effects on you."

"He's sharing his food and water," Thresh comments. "Can't complain."

"He isn't setting off alarm bells just yet," Cato concedes. "We could give him the benefit of the doubt." I squeeze his hand. "Not saying we shouldn't still keep watch at night," he adds, "but he seems okay so far."

Glimmer twirls a groosling bone, frowning. "Have any of you guys seen or heard anything about his Games? Because I haven't." She's answered with a chorus of _no_'s_._

"Would it matter if we did?" I ask.

"Maybe. I dunno. Some Victors turn out differently after their Games, you know? Some are...saner than others."

This is unfortunately true."Do you think that's the case here?"

Glimmer shrugs. "I'm just not getting the best vibe from him. I wouldn't want to be alone with this guy, is all I'm saying."

I don't really feel whatever off-putting vibes Glimmer is feeling. I guess it's different for me personally, because he speaks about my parents so familiarly. And he seems earnest in his memories about them and in his desire to help. I also can't deny that I'm looking forward to asking him about my parents when they were younger, getting a different perspective on their Games. But I can understand why Alasdar would unnerve Glimmer. "Something to keep in mind, then, but hopefully nothing to worry about."

* * *

"I told you, I'm fine, Rue."

She doesn't believe him. The color of his face is pasty and unpleasant. "How sick is he still?" she asks Finch, ignoring Cedric's protestations.

The red-haired girl—Rue loves the color of her hair, it reminds her of the leaves changing in autumn (she's noticed that Marvel likes the color a lot, too)—presses her hand against Cedric's sweaty forehead. "Quite sick. He may get a little worse before he gets better. The fever is coming on strong."

Rue sighs and looks disapprovingly at the sick patient. "Eating the strawberries like that was really dumb, you know."

"Does everybody know about that?" Cedric moans.

"You didn't even save me one!" Rue teases.

"I thought about it."

She shakes her head. "Well, it's actually a good thing you didn't, otherwise I'd be sick like you." She pats his clammy hand. "I think I'll go look for some flowers for you."

"No, I don't—" Cedric stops, mid-complaint, looking as if he's remembering something. "Uh. Yeah. Okay. That'd be nice. Thanks, Rue."

She beams at him. "I'll be back soon."

The summer day is mild and the slightest bit breezy, not as hot and humid as it could be. Rue feels like she can truly enjoy the weather for the first time since the Reaping. For the first time since they left the arena, she feels safe.

Not that Ember and Cato and Thresh and the older kids haven't been doing their best to protect them all. Rue can sleep soundly at night, knowing that there will always be two people awake. And walking in the middle of the pack while they're on the move means she isn't worried about being snatched off by a bear or a mountain lion. This is so much better than she hoped for when they drew her name from the Reaping bowl. The food and water might not be the best, but it wasn't at home, either. And she misses her family, but she thinks of Ardi, and Jean, and Thresh, and Ember, and most of all Cedric, and she thinks she might have a new family now.

She tamps down on a giggle as she skips past Ember and Cato, who are at the sled, _holding hands._ They've been doing that all morning. It's wonderful. Rue wonders if she'll ever find a boyfriend who looks at her like Cato looks at Ember. She doesn't think Cato even realizes he looks at Ember like that. It took _forever_ for them to start holding hands. Older kids can be so silly sometimes.

Rue sings a little love song from back home as she scampers away from the others, her bright eyes seeking out places where wildflowers might grow. She'll probably have to take whatever she can find out here, but if she had options...what would Cedric like best? Red flowers? Blue flowers? Yellow flowers? There's no use wondering which species he'd want. He's a boy, he probably can't tell the difference between a daisy and a carnation.

"Ooh!" She spies a cluster of lovely red poppies. Rue kneels beside the patch and begins to carefully pluck the prettiest blooms. It's so great that they're finally starting to see flowers again. She'd missed all the life and green and colors when they were passing through the ashen, bombed parts of the forest.

Maybe Cato will pick flowers for Ember. Rue silently giggles at the thought of the big, muscular boy from Two skulking around a garden. What if he accidentally gives Ember weeds? Ember doesn't seem like the type to get hung up over an honest mistake like that, but still, that would be pretty embarrassing. If it looks like Cato is planning on making any romantic gestures like that, Rue may have to offer her help—

She hears lumbering footsteps approaching, and on instinct, Rue presses herself down on the ground amid the tall grasses. _It's probably just one of the older kids. _Hmm. Depending on which of the older kids it is, she might consider giving them a little spook. Pop out of the grass all of a sudden, or something like that. She would love to get Marvel back for that prank he pulled with the dead bird a while back.

The passerby turns out to be the man helping them, Alasdar. He halts not too far away from her and sets down the case he's carrying. Rue watches him crouch, open the case, and pull out a wicked-looking blade. Her burst of fear at the sight of it is alleviated when Alasdar also takes out a tarnished mirror and, without applying any shaving cream as Rue has seen the menfolk of her family do back home, he begins to scrape away his bushy beard.

Rue is wondering whether she should alert him to her presence or creep away without disturbing him, when he begins to mutter to himself. "Gotta look sharp, gotta look sharp. Company's here. Gotta look sharp."

She feels a pang of sadness for Alasdar. Ember and Cato didn't tell the rest of them much about the man, but Rue does know that Alasdar has been alone for a very long time. She can't imagine being around no one else for so long. She hates being lonely.

Alasdar pauses, when precisely one half of his face is shaved, and rubs his bristly chin. "Yes, yes, that's it. Years younger, eh? Just like how it used to be. Just the way she liked it." He continues to groom himself. "Finally. Finally came back. She finally came back to me. Gotta look sharp for her."

Rue's forehead crinkles. _She? Her?_ Who is Alasdar talking about?

"Still loves me. She must still love me. She came back, she's gotta love me. All his fault. All him. Took her away from me. Never again. Won't let him take her away again. Stop him. Do whatever it takes. Never come between us again. Mine, mine, she's mine. We'll stop him, she'll be mine, mine forever. Gotta look sharp for her."

Her skin prickles. Is he talking about...Ember? She can't think of anyone else "she" might be. But how does he know Ember? Didn't Ember say something about how she's never met Alasdar before? And who's _him?_ Who's _he?_ Rue tries to retreat silently, creeping backward on the grass. She rustles the blades, and she freezes, just as Alasdar stiffens. _Please think it's only the wind,_ she prays. Before, she'd thought him a kooky but kind man who was helping them.

Now...now she's quite afraid of him.

Alasdar goes back to shaving, and Rue exhales inaudibly. This time, she waits for Alasdar to finish up, watching him pack the mirror back into the case and trudge in the direction of the cabin. When he's out of sight and she's counted to ten, she stands up. She needs to find Ember, tell her what she saw and heard—

Rue squeaks when a blade presses against her throat. "What's this? A little rat?" Alasdar growls.

"I-I-I-I…"

"Sh-sh-sh-shhhhh." Alasdar pats her head, even as his other hand holds the razor against her neck. "Don't make a sound, mousey. We don't want to alarm anyone, do we?"

She trembles in silence.

"Good mousey. Now...what do we do with you? Can't have you running off and telling them that old Alasdar is crazy, can we? That'd be so...mean. And a lie. You're not mean, you're not a liar, are you, mousey?"

"No," she whispers.

"Thought not. So how do we stop you from running your mouth? Hmm? Kill you?" The razor presses closer. "But they'll come looking for you soon enough, and they'll know it was me. No, no, can't have that. Can't cut out that little pink tongue of yours, either. Because they'll _know._ She'll know. And she loves little mouseys like you. What to do, what to do…"

Rue gulps, dreading that he'll kill her anyway, for all he's rambling about how he won't.

"Are you my friend, mousey?"

"W-what?"

"I _said,_ are you my friend?"

What else can she say? "Y-Y-Yes."

"Good. Because friends don't blab about friends' secrets, right?" He squeezes her shoulder painfully. "_Right?_"

"Right!"

"Good." Suddenly, he lets her go and twirls her around so she's facing him. "I'm letting you go, mousey."

She stares at him, disbelieving.

"See, I'm letting you go. And you...you're not gonna tell anyone about our little meeting here. Because we're friends. Swear?" He holds out his pinky.

The innocent action throws her. Trying not to shake, Rue hooks her own pinky around his. "Swear," she whispers.

"Good mousey. Now, uh, don't go breaking that promise, you hear?" Alasdar smiles. "If you do, I'll know. And when I find out, I'll find you and slit that pretty little neck of yours, like I did with Sweet Candy." He extends one finger, and his filthy, jagged nail traces her throat. "I'll carve out that spot right there. Just like I did with Candy. You and anyone you try to tell." He pats her head one more time. "Now, get going."

Rue doesn't need to be told twice. As she flees, he calls after her again.

"Don't tell. Don't forget. _I'll know._"

* * *

**Don't tell me anyone thought it'd be all fine and dandy with Alasdar. :)**

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**Announcement 1/3: The oneshot that I wrote for dleshae is up! It's called "Fire Beneath the Ashes," and it centers around a conversation between Ashton and Haymitch during the winter before the events of Sweetest Mockery.**

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**Announcement 2/3: As a belated birthday gift to ProudAthena13, my best friend and beta, I'm starting a new story for her. It's different from Sweetest Mockery in that its chapters will be a lot shorter, and its updates will be prioritized behind Sweetest Mockery's updates. The story, Gods After Our Own Image, is basically a Greco-Roman mythological AU of Sweetest Mockery. The first part is going to be about Haymitch and Maysilee, but after that, we'll see where my inspiration takes me. Check it out!**

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**Announcement 3/3: As incentive to review, and to review early at that, I'm going to be starting what's essentially a rewards program. If you review within a week of my updating the newest chapter, I'll send you a little snippet preview (generally 300-500 words) of the following chapter. That way, readers who review quickly (I love you guys) get something to tide them over until the next update (and I will probably send the previews to those reviewers at the end of that first week).**

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**So...does that inspire anyone to review? :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you very much to my lovely reviewers; jafcbutterfly, Ro-Lee, Mely-the-Mockingjay, bookangel1624, dleshae, ForeverTeamEdward13, Swimming Trees, FwuffyUnicorn, TessStark, and vampluver19!**

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**~Fan-Service~ this chapter. The calm before the storm, shall we say?**

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Eighteen:

This is a part of the Capitol that Seneca rarely traverses. The neighborhood, while not exactly impoverished or decrepit, is still significantly less affluent than where he and Rain reside. As Gamemakers, which is one of the most prestigious professions in Panem—not to mention his status as Head Gamemaker—they can afford to live in a top-notch area of the city.

As Seneca peers out from beneath his hat and adjusts the collar of his coat to cover his face better, he rather feels like a criminal. He probably is a criminal, considering what he has in mind. Once he verifies that he has the right apartment building, he presses the button beside the name _Burnwold._

The speaker crackles to life. "_Yes?_"

"It's Seneca."

Silence. Then there's a buzzing sound as the front gate unlocks. Seneca quickly slips inside. He takes the elevator up, knocks on the apartment door, and waits.

The door cracks open, the chain still in place. Seneca manages a faint smile. "I thought Games stylists' salaries could afford better places than this?"

Cinna looks at him calmly, evenly. "I prefer to invest in other things."

"May I come in?"

The stylist closes the door to undo the chain before opening it again. He wordlessly motions for Seneca to enter, and just as silently gestures for him to sit in the cramped living room. Seneca seats himself on the worn but comfortable couch and watches Cinna start a kettle.

Waiting for the water to boil, Cinna sits opposite Seneca in an armchair. "What is it you need from me, Mr. Crane?"

Seneca feels jarred by Cinna calling him a name that the stylist hasn't used in years. "Cinna, I thought we established ages ago that we'd be on a first-name basis."

"I wasn't sure if that still applied. Our relationship is dependent on our individual relationships with Rain, and she isn't in a very good place right now."

Seneca winces at the reminder. "Cinna. I trust that you're still her friend? Her best friend?"

"She has never stopped being my best friend. However, it was my belief that you, understandably, are _her _best friend now." Cinna crosses his legs. "Or is that no longer true?"

Cinna, Seneca knows, has been friends with Rain for years, since before Seneca even met her. Cinna, Seneca decides, is trustworthy. He takes the leap of faith. "Rain is my best friend. And she is the love of my life." His voice lowers. "I want to help her."

"...It took you over two weeks of her sitting in prison to decide this?" Cinna is the least judgmental person Seneca knows, but right now, he's radiating judgment. The kettle whistles, and the stylist gets up to make tea.

Seneca thanks him but doesn't touch the mug placed before him. "It's no excuse, but I haven't been thinking straight. Now that I've gotten my thoughts in order, I know that whatever the cost, whatever the risk, I have to get Rain out of this city. Rain and our daughter. I need to get them somewhere safe. Will you help, Cinna?"

Cinna wraps his fingers around his cup. "Seneca, you realize that if we're caught, we will be severely punished. Imprisoned, tortured, executed."

Seneca clenches his jaw. "Whatever the cost, Cinna."

"Good." The stylist sips his tea. "I, too, will do whatever I can for Rain's sake, as will Portia." Cinna pauses. "Oh. And Effie will help, I'm sure."

It takes Seneca a moment to place the name. "Effie Trinket? District 12's escort? Why?"

"She's friends with Portia and me, and it might not look it on TV, but Effie and the Abernathys do like each other. She's always gotten along with Maysilee in particular, and she has a soft spot for all the Abernathy children. Rain especially. The Capitol questioned her, but like Portia and myself, she had no idea what Maysilee, Haymitch, Rain, and all the others were planning until it already happened. Hence, why we're all still walking free."

Seneca is skeptical. "Can we trust her? Isn't there a reason the rebels left her behind?" He hasn't paid much attention to the District 12 escort in the past, but from what Seneca recalls, Effie Trinket doesn't seem like the type to defy the Capitol.

"They left me behind, too," Cinna points out.

"Yes, but you're…" Seneca closes his eyes and inhales sharply. "Alright. Do you trust Effie Trinket?"

"In this, yes, I do. And I don't trust lightly when it comes to things concerning Rain."

Seneca nods slowly. "Then I will trust her as well."

"Do you have a plan?"

"The start of one, yes." Seneca hopes he has made the right decision. "First things first, we need to confirm Cressida Heraldstone's involvement with the rebellion."

* * *

Rue nearly barrels past me, if it's possible for a little girl who weighs about seventy pounds to do any kind of barreling. "Rue? What's the matter?"

"I...I...I…" She clamps her mouth shut, her eyes darting this way and that.

"Rue, is something wrong?" I ask gently.

Rue shakes her head, then nods, then shakes her head again, then finally just shrugs.

My brow furrows. "Am I supposed to understand what that means?"

In the distance, somebody—Alasdar, I think—begins to whistle. I pay it no mind, too intent on watching Rue as her expression shutters and she squares her shoulders. The younger girl looks me in the eye. "I'm worried about Cedric. I tried to find flowers for him, but I couldn't."

Not sure what kind of an answer I was expecting, but it wasn't that. "Is that all? You seemed kind of upset, more than I would have thought concerning flowers."

"I promised Cedric I would bring him some," she insists. "I don't like to break promises."

Her gaze is clear and steady. Rue has always been among the most honest and expressive of our group. I assure myself that if something else were wrong, Rue would be sure to tell me. "I'm sure Ced won't mind. He'll appreciate the effort all the same." He'd better, at least. If he doesn't fight to hang onto Rue and treat her _at least_ as well as she treats him, then my little brother isn't as smart as I thought. "Wanna come with me to check on him?"

Rue seems more at ease when she's seated on Cedric's bed, and soon she's chattering away at him. Still, there's something in her eyes that perturbs me, but I can't put my finger on it. But I push it aside as Finch demands my attention.

"His fever's burning hotter," Finch tells me. "It's less worrisome now that we've stopped moving and there's a steady supply of water."

"But...not good?"

"Not good." She sees the concern in my expression. "But it's not awful, either. I think the food poisoning is hitting him a bit harder than normal because he's been underfed and dehydrated lately, same as the rest of us. But like I said, we're in a secure place now. It won't get much worse than this. For now, though, there's nothing we can do except wait it out and keep him comfortable. I'll let you know if anything changes."

I recognize that as a quiet but firm dismissal. I stroke Ced's sweaty hair one last time before leaving the cabin.

A pleasant distraction quickly arrives in the form of Cato and Marvel sparring. Shirtless. I can tell I'm not the only one enjoying the view—pretty sure almost all the girls in the pack are conveniently gathered in the vicinity. I can't blame them. Obviously, I know Cato is in prime physical condition, scars and all. Despite our poor diets and constant exhaustion the last few weeks, he's as muscular as ever, and he looks to be fighting with as much strength and energy as he ever did at the Tribute Center. Watching him now, muscles working furiously as he looks like he's having the time of his life dueling Marvel, you'd scarcely believe that he barely survived the fire-bombs a week ago.

The magic of sheer stubbornness, I tell you.

Marvel is also pretty impressive. I've always known that he's had muscular arms from chucking spears around, but now it's clear that the rest of him is just as toned. He's less built than Cato, more along the lines of the lean strength of Finnick Odair &amp; Co. I also notice, completely objectively, that he has nice abs.

_Poor Finch is missing out._

Or maybe not, judging by the flash of red hair I spot periodically through the cabin window.

"What's the occasion?" I ask Una, Ardi's district partner from Four, who is distinctly appreciative of the sight before us.

"They were feeling rusty, and since we're stationary for the time being, they figured now's the best time to brush up on their skills." Una smirks slyly at me. "Not gonna lie, pretty jealous you managed to nab one half of that."

I grace that with no reply other than a self-satisfied smile.

Anyone else and I would be alarmed by the fact that Cato and Marvel are using live steel—as in, a real sword and a real spear. But the two of them wield their respective weapons like extensions of their arms, as if they've been training with them since they could talk. Considering they're Careers, I wouldn't be surprised if that really were the case. Marvel uses the length of the spear to block blows from Cato's sword, which land with less force than I know he's capable of, and then Marvel makes strategic stabs with the spearhead, which Cato easily avoids. Both look like they're only dueling at half-power, and they seem to be having fun more than anything, judging by the stereotypical trash talk they're hurling at each other.

I feel antsy, in a good way. I haven't gotten any practice recently, either. The last time we saw action—at least, action we could hope to combat, not hovercrafts dropping bombs or the like—was when we faced the mutts at the edge of the arena. At the time, I was too busy hauling a wounded Vidal up a hill and then being sneaked up on by a three hundred-pound growling mutt to participate in any fighting.

Cato and Marvel pause for a break so they can guzzle some water. I take the opportunity to step forward. I speak to both of them, but my question is really directed toward one of them in particular, and everyone who hears it knows it. "Mind if I join in?"

Cato lowers his bottle and eyes me, a smirk creeping up on his lips. "Think you can handle it, Ember? I could go easy on you."

I fold my arms. "Don't patronize me. I might surprise you." I may have had trouble against the mutt that came up from behind me (a fluke, I swear), but it's not like I'm a child who's never picked up a knife before. Mom and Dad made sure of that. Just because I know how to act for the cameras and talk smoothly, and just because I prefer to take the more diplomatic, non-violent approach when possible, doesn't mean I can't take care of myself. I'm not Career-level good when it comes to combat (my parents had their limits), but I'm not an easy target, either.

"Well, then why don't you show me how it's done?" Cato stands, offering me a smile full of mischief and promise.

Marvel catcalls.

I smile sweetly at the boy from One and inform him, lowly enough that no one else but Cato can hear, "Marvel, if you ask nicely, I'm sure Finch will be happy to spar with _you._"

Marvel shuts up.

Cato gestures grandly at the available assortment of weapons. Spears, swords, axes, and the like. While I am familiar with how to use these sorts of weapons, since they're commonly found in the arena and therefore have a place on my parents' curriculum, they're not my favorites. Not like the blowgun—which, although I see it where I left it on the sled, is unfortunately not a sparring weapon, so not an option right now. As I survey the entire collection, I think about Dad's top three weapons, for any and all occasions.

Number three is the knife: standard issue, multipurpose, and gets the job done.

Number two is the club: flexible in that it can be made from a variety of source materials, not very elegant but if you get in a good whack at someone's head, you're golden.

And number one is your own body: the one thing you can always depend on, and often underestimated by your opponents.

(Honorable mention goes to the rock, or anything compact that you can use to bash in someone's skull. Dad is a huge fan of versatile weapons.)

I clasp my hands behind my back and face Cato again. "Hand-to-hand combat."

Cato's eyebrows fly up. "You sure about that, Ember?"

"Are you forgetting about a certain tussle in the elevator at the Tribute Center?" I keenly recall a particular knee-meets-sensitive-parts movement.

So does Cato, judging by his grimace. "_That_ was a dirty move."

"All's fair in love and war," I retort in a sing-song voice, ignoring the fact that until I pulled that trump card, he'd definitely had the upper hand. "If you're so worried, maybe _you're_ the one who shouldn't be so sure about sparring with me."

Cato narrows his eyes as I smile angelically. He holds out his sword for an amused Marvel to hang on to before prowling forward until he's standing so close to me that I have to crane my neck to look up at him. Typical intimidation tactic. To be fair, it probably is usually effective—on other people. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Warn me about what?" I ask cheekily. "How you react when you lose?"

"He is a pretty sore loser," Marvel chimes in. "You should've seen his face on the first day of training, when he realized I'm better with spears."

I smirk at Cato. "I think I can imagine it."

He clearly doesn't like being the object of so much ribbing and teasing. "Are we going to start anytime soon? We don't have all day."

Cato and I face each other, a good few feet separating us. I fall into the stance that Dad has drilled into me so much that it's almost, but not quite, my default standing position: looking casual and relaxed, non-threatening to the untrained eye, but my muscles are tense and ready to spring into action at any moment.

"Can we agree on no punching or scratching or anything like that?" I propose. "I'd like to keep it friendly."

Cato nods. Then, quietly enough so only I can hear, he murmurs, "Are you sure you want to be doing this in front of children?"

I feign shock and appalment. "What a dirty mind you have."

"Oh, you haven't heard anything ye—" He's cut off mid-word as I lunge. I almost manage to sweep him off his feet, but as I've noted in the past, Cato has impressive reflexes, and he dodges just in time.

Back home, Mom and Dad have a line-up of six people with whom I spar in our backyard, depending on when they're free. Of the three girls, I usually practice with Mom and Katniss. Mom has more experience while Katniss is faster, and both put up a good fight. Once in a while I face off with Madge, but although my cousin tries hard, and although she has improved over the years, she just isn't a natural fighter. Her strengths are more cerebral.

The three guys are Dad, Peeta, and Gale. Dad may be middle-aged, but he's kept himself in good shape, and he is _fast._ Peeta, on the other hand, is not what I would call an agile guy, but he can tote around hundred-pound sacks of flour like they're nothing, and he's an excellent wrestler. Gale has the height of a small tree, and while he is kind of skinny and underfed, all that time in the woods and his constantly being roped into my parents' training regimes—and his semi-regular attendance at the Abernathy dinner table, along with the rest of my friends—have made him stronger and nimbler than he looks. So it's not like I've been beating up only marshmallows my whole life.

Cato, however, is in another (Academy-trained) league. I soon realize this, as he quickly shakes off his surprise at my aggression and retaliates. I duck his attempt to place me in a headlock by dropping and, rapidly recalling one of Mom's favorite escape maneuvers, sliding between his legs. He spins around to face me again. "Not bad, Twelve."

"Not so shabby yourself, Two."

He surges forward, reaching for my waist. I avoid his grasp, but it turns out to be a feint and he grabs my ankle instead, sending me sprawling to the ground. My shoulder absorbs most of the impact. I hurriedly roll onto my back, only to find that Cato has insinuated himself over me, so that I can't even wriggle my way out.

He looks smugly down at me. "That all you got, Twelve?"

I shoot him an annoyed look. "Why are you asking? Ready to forfeit, Two?" I retort, even though it's obvious that it's pretty much game over for me.

"Not gonna lie, Ember, for all your talk about training, I'm kind of disappointed."

I've never lied to myself about the fact that in the arena, I probably wouldn't last long against a Career. Fighting Gale or Katniss is different than Cato, or even Clove, although I've never had to face her before (thankfully). The plan, if I ever found myself in that kind of situation in the Games, would be to hold out just long enough until I could catch them off-guard and run away. If Cato and I had been fighting for real just now, I would have made a run for it as soon as I'd escaped his attempted headlock. Right now, I suppose I could forfeit. Or…

_Fight dirty,_ I imagine Mom telling me.

_Fight very dirty,_ I imagine Dad telling me.

I reach up to grip Cato's shoulders and kiss him squarely on the mouth. Clearly not a move he was expecting, since he's surprised into stillness for a few seconds. And yet, ignoring the giggles and whistles springing up amongst our onlookers, he's fast to respond. He almost makes me forget the purpose behind my kiss (and that we have an audience), but I retain sufficient faculties to stick with the plan. I notice the instant his muscles relax, when he lets down his guard, and I make my move, flipping our positions.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Cato finds himself on his back, both times thanks to the same trick. I grin cheekily down at him, amid cheers and laughs from our spectators. "Yield?" I inquire.

His lips quirk upward, and he brings up his hand to gently stroke my cheek once with his thumb before agreeing. "Yield."

"Bet they don't teach that at the Academy, huh?"

"Kissing your opponents to distract them? Nah. But are you expecting me to believe that your parents told _you_ to do that?"

"_I_ was told not to be deceived by a pretty face," I say loftily.

"Uh-huh. So you never get distracted? Ever?"

"Nope."

He raises his eyebrows, and that's the only warning I get before he surges up from the ground, with me still sitting on him. As he shoots upwards, he hoists me up and adjusts me so I'm slung over his shoulder like one of Peeta's sacks of flour.

"Hey!" I cry out indignantly.

"Sorry, did I distract you?" Cato strolls away from the clearing, carrying me like some kind of caveman. "Show's over. Everyone back to business."

"Don't forget there are children here!" Marvel crows after us.

I thump Cato's back. "Put me down, you Neanderthal."

He does eventually, when we're a distance away from the others. I'm deposited, not ungently, near a cluster of red poppies—some of which are inexplicably broken at the stem and scattered—and then he lies down on the grass next to me, pulling me close so the lengths of our bodies are touching. "Just when I think I have you figured out, you go and surprise me again. And I don't just mean in fights."

"Good. I would hate to lose my air of mystery." As I move closer, I roll on the shoulder that I used to catch myself when I fell earlier, and I wince at the twinge of pain. I tug up the short sleeve of my t-shirt to inspect the damage.

Cato immediately zeroes in on the blossoming bruise. "Shit. I did that."

"No, that was me falling."

"Because I tripped you."

"We were sparring," I remind him, rolling onto my back again so I'm not putting pressure on my shoulder. "We were supposed to be doing things like tripping each other."

One hand comes up to gently rub the skin around the bruise. His eyes are dark and distant, and a frown tugs at his lips.

"What are you thinking?" I ask softly.

"I could hurt you so easily in a real fight." I don't deny this. "I just thought, what if your sister hadn't stopped the Games. What if we'd been forced to play. What if I'd met you in the arena. I could have killed you, and I wouldn't have thought twice about it."

"Cato, there's no point thinking about what ifs. There are too many different paths we could've gone down. I mean, maybe _I_ would've killed _you_. Or Ced, with his bow and arrows. Or a Gamemaker—my sister, even—could have sent mutts after one or both of us." I reach out and stroke his furrowed brow. "Besides, I think you give yourself too little credit. You're not as soulless as you claim to be."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he mutters. "At the Academy, they drill compassion and empathy for fellow tributes out of us at a young age. 'District 2 is the best. No one else compares. The other Districts are worthless.' We were taught to see everyone else as not human."

"Do you still think that?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then there's no problem. You can't help your upbringing. What's important is that you saw beyond what they told you, and you changed. Yeah, you might have been kind of a jerk at the Tribute Center, but nowadays it's not like you look at, say, Rue, and still think of her only as a potential kill count, or Gamemaker fodder."

"No, definitely not." He closes his eyes and sighs. "Oh, who am I kidding? There's no way I would've been able to kill you in the arena."

"I'm glad to hear that ten years of celebrity crushing wouldn't have been tossed aside so easily," I say cheekily.

Cato shakes his head. "Well, that was only one-sided, so I'm sure you wouldn't have had a problem with killing that asshole Career from Two."

I frown, as the grass tickles my cheek. "I would've had a problem with killing anyone. You, Marvel, Clove, Glimmer. My parents may have trained us for the Games, but they never let me or my siblings forget that the real enemy isn't the other children trying to kill us. They're victims just as much as we are. The real enemy is the Capitol, and our parents told us to make sure we always remember that, even in the arena."

His fingers play with some of my splayed hair. "Your parents really are quite something, huh? Beyond what we've all seen on TV these last twenty-some years."

"I've known them my whole life and I still haven't completely figured them out."

"My father…" Cato's mouth twists. "My father says he knew better, but regardless he's always been impressed by how long your parents managed to keep up the star-crossed lovers act. He said once that if he didn't know any better, he'd have fallen for it too."

Cato's father sounds like a charming man. "It was only an act for so long. They've loved each other for real for a while."

"You know, that's what my sister, Vespasia, has insisted for years now. But she's a huge romantic so none of us paid her much heed."

"And what did _you_ think?"

"Honestly, I didn't care that much. I cared more about—well."

"You cared more about your dozen girlfriends at the Academy?" I supply blithely.

Cato blinks at me. "What—_no._ First of all, it wasn't a dozen. If you absolutely need a number, it was seven. Secondly, none of them were what I would call girlfriends. Things were never that serious with them."

Seven girls. Pretty sure Gale has hooked up with at least seven girls back home (and none of them Madge, to her chagrin, although she'll never tell him that). But still, a twinge of jealousy in my heart compels me to utter, "But you're all mine now, aren't you?"

He smiles and kisses me lightly. "If you'll have me."

In response, I lean toward him for another kiss. He kisses back, his teeth grazing my bottom lip, and I skim my fingers across his bare chest. His hand briefly rests on my hip, before sneaking underneath my shirt. I shiver, heart pounding, my body thankfully not freezing up like last night but—

"Yo, Cato!" we hear Marvel holler. "Put some clothes on, we need you!"

Cato squeezes his eyes shut. "I will fucking kill him one day."

"Let me know if you need help."

We stand up, dusting blades of grass off our clothing. "Are you coming back with me?" he inquires.

My attention is caught by the bright red poppies beside us, and I recall my conversation with Rue about flowers. "I'm going to pick some flowers for Ced really quickly. Give them to Rue to give to him. Or maybe I'll do it myself to embarrass him. But I'll be right there."

Cato nods and steals another kiss before going to see what Marvel wants. I stoop and begin to pluck some of the poppies. My gaze periodically drifts toward those that have already been torn up and left behind, and I wonder why, and how. Some kind of animal? But I don't know of any animals that pick flowers, except humans. Maybe one of the pack got bored and decided to kill a few poppies.

"Pretty flowers."

I startle and stand straight, clenching the bouquet in my hands. It's Alasdar, leaning against a tree, a mellow expression on his newly shaven face. "Hey, Alasdar. I didn't hear you coming."

"Sorry for sneaking up on you. Force of habit. Never quite shook off the need to be quiet after my Games. Maysilee and Haymitch probably still have a few quirks, I'd imagine." He nods at the poppies in my hands. "Who're those for?"

"Cedric."

"Of course, of course. You know, I'm surprised he wasn't named Haymitch Jr."

I smile awkwardly. Alasdar has mentioned my brother's resemblance to Dad a lot, and I don't know what to make of it. "Mom and Dad couldn't have known when he was a baby just how much he'd turn out looking like Dad."

"No, of course not. But you…" Alasdar points at me, grinning. "They must've known straight away that you'd look just like Maysilee, huh?"

"Uh...not really." It is my opinion that all newborns look like potatoes. Cute, flesh-colored potatoes that eat and poop and cry, but potatoes nonetheless. I was one such potato once upon a time, indistinguishable from any other spud, let alone resembling my mother. "And Rain looks more like Mom. Everyone says so, and I can't argue."

"Oh, your sister's got that golden hair, alright. But not the eyes. You got Maysilee's bright blues. It's all in the eyes."

"Um. I guess." I try to take Alasdar's fixation about familial resemblances in stride, but it's difficult. I tell myself he's probably a bit kooky from all those years alone in the woods, so some oddities must be excused. "All my other siblings have gray eyes like Dad. Only I got Mom's eyes."

"Yeah. There's something special about blue eyes, isn't there? Only merchants have them in Twelve, as you know. Everyone else is all Seam gray. Like me. Like Haymitch. Like your brother." Alasdar sees the bewilderment and slight unease in my face and holds up his hands, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry. I get fixated on eyes sometimes. It's just…" He sighs softly, and profound sadness washes over his expression, seeping into the lines of his face. His voice is weary as he explains, "When I was a boy, a starving little Seam rat, there was this merchant girl I absolutely adored. Her name was Candy, and she had the prettiest blue eyes you ever saw. Even after all these years, I still think about that sweet girl and her eyes."

"Oh. I see." I try to think of all the merchant women who'd be around Alasdar's age, late forties or early fifties, but I can't recall anyone named Candy. "What happened to her?"

Alasdar stares into space, his expression crumpling. "She was reaped in the same Games as me. Since I'm the one still standing today, you can probably surmise that she died."

"I'm so sorry, Alasdar." Every Victor whom I know personally has felt the loss of his or her district partner in some way, faintly or acutely. It's strange to go home alone, when you left it as part of a duo. And it's harder when, like Alasdar, you knew them before your Games.

With some bitterness, Alasdar continues, "During your parents' Games, when they pulled that whole star-crossed lovers story, I kept thinking, what if I'd thought of it when I'd played? Maybe Candy could've lived. Maybe we could've gotten married, like your parents did. But I realized, eventually, it wouldn't have worked nearly as well for us. Candy was a sweet, kind, loving girl, but not nearly as clever or brave as Maysilee. She couldn't have kept up the act for long." His lips form a twisted smile. "I knew your mother before her Games."

That sparks my interest. "Did you? How?"

"After Candy died, after my Games, I wanted to remember her somehow. She'd always loved the sweetshop—tickled her pink with her name and all—so I went there a lot. Maysilee's family owned it, as you know, so I saw her plenty of times when she was helping out in the store. Lovely girl, your mother. Bolder than most other merchant girls. I was really banking on her to win when she got reaped."

If Alasdar really has known my mother for so long, then why has she never, ever spoken a word about him? He must be a good ten years older than my parents, which means his Games had to have taken place well before the Quell. So if he'd patronized my grandparents' sweetshop for years after he won, then he must have known my mother since she was a kid. You would think she'd have mentioned him once or twice. "What about my dad?"

"Haymitch? I didn't know him, and I never became that familiar with him even after he and Maysilee won. Honestly, Maysilee was my favorite of the four that year. I didn't pay much attention to any of the other three, until Haymitch went and did the star-crossed lovers shtick."

I can't hold it against Alasdar for playing favorites, especially not if his favorite was my mom. I never really saw Ashton's Games—I was six, and my parents didn't want me watching in case something bad happened to my brother—but I know that the other tribute from Twelve, the girl, got the short end of the stick that year, because Mom and Dad were devoted to bringing Ash home. But no one in District 12 really ever faulted them for it, not when their son's life was on the line. "What about your Games, Alasdar? I've never seen or heard anything about them."

He grimaces. "My Games...were not pretty. A lot more gore and violence than usual that year."

I'm guessing Alasdar was behind some of that gore and violence? I know Mom and Dad still have the occasional nightmare about what they were forced to do during their Games. "It's okay, you don't have to talk about it. I was just wondering how you won."

Alasdar grins. "Same as your parents, sweetheart. I used my brain."

It never feels right when anyone but Dad calls me _sweetheart._ But I don't comment on it. Alasdar wouldn't know, and it doesn't bother me enough to make a fuss. "Did you do anything like Beetee, from Three? Do you remember his year?"

"With the electrocution, yeah. Yes, I suppose like Beetee. I was pretty good at setting traps. You saw for yourself, with the one your friend got caught in earlier. It's how I got rid of most of the Careers in my Games." Alasdar rubs his chin. "Speaking of whom, interesting bunch you've got with you."

There's something about his tone, how he says _interesting,_ that I don't like. "Have you spoken with them?"

"Nah. Haven't spoken much to any of your friends. I don't think they like me very much." He shrugs. "It's fine. I know I look like a crazy old hermit to them. Just saying, I was surprised the Careers are working with the rest of you. Usually they'd sooner stab you in the back than help anyone who isn't them." He sucks his tongue between his teeth. "Like that big blond one? I would've stayed way clear of him in the arena. There's always a crowd favorite every year, usually the one who seems to be the best killer."

Definitely don't like his tone. But I do my best to consider Alasdar's perspective: seeing a squad of Careers suddenly encroaching on his territory and eating his food, when his only experience with Careers has been to fight them to the death. And who knows, maybe it was a Career who killed this Candy he was so fond of? It's not so unexpected that he wouldn't be fond of Cato and the others.

Nevertheless, at this point the only reason I'm trying so hard to keep chatting with Alasdar is that he's helping us with supplies and shelter, and talking is the least I can do in return. If he weren't helping so much, I'd have called it quits a while ago. I usually don't force myself to stay in uncomfortable conversations, and this is definitely uncomfortable. "His name is Cato. They gave him 3-1 odds of winning, I think. But we're not in the arena anymore. He's fine." More than fine, but I'm not about to talk with Alasdar about Cato and me. "He's been a huge help to the rest of us. If it weren't for him, we'd all be dead from the fire-bombs."

Alasdar still scowls. "Cato. Sounds like a District 2 name, only district arrogant enough to try to emulate the Capitol. Do you know his last name?"

Surnames weren't on the top of my list of things to memorize during training. But because Cato, as the obvious favorite to win, was featured on TV so much in the days preceding the Games, I do in fact know his last name. "Wolfwood, I'm pretty sure."

Alasdar snaps his fingers. "That's why he looks familiar! His father, Attilus, won the Games the year after mine." He lets out a long, low whistle. "Attilus was a brute for sure. No mercy for anyone. Hope his son isn't too much like him."

"I...can't really say. I don't know his father at all. But I definitely wouldn't call Cato merciless." I might have before the Games, when I didn't know him yet. But now? No. Not _my_ Cato.

"And I hope for your sake that it stays that way." He shakes his head. "You know, I never thought I'd live to see the day that a Career went after Maysilee's daughter."

My brow furrows. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know how it is. The people from One and Two, even Four, they think they're so much better than the rest of us, even though they're slaves to the Capitol, same as everyone else. They don't see us as good for anything except upping their kill count. But you and I know better, right? _We're_ the one who are truly better. We have our souls. We have our humanity. They can swing their swords and throw their spears all they want, but they're not human like we are."

I tighten my grip around the bunch of flowers in my hand. "That's not right, Alasdar. They're the same as us. They were just raised differently, and that's no fault of theirs."

"You would know, huh? With Attilus's son being your boyfriend and all?"

I take a step back. Supplies and shelter or not, this conversation has definitely crossed the line. "Alasdar, this is getting too personal. I'm going to leave now."

"Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Ember. There you are." Glimmer loudly tromps onto the scene. "We need you for something." She eyes Alasdar. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, not sounding very apologetic.

Alasdar holds up his hands. "No worries." He nods at me. "Talk to you later, Ember." Whistling what sounds like _The Hanging Tree_, he saunters off and disappears into the woods.

I shake my head, befuddled and unnerved by the conversation that's just happened. I follow Glimmer back toward everyone else. "What do you need me for?"

"Nothing. I made it up. You looked like you needed an exit strategy."

I look at her in surprise. "Um. Yeah. I suppose I did. I was about to leave. But—"

"You do realize the guy's a creep?"

I frown. Alasdar is weird and off-putting, no doubt about it, and he has a terrible sense of what are acceptable conversation topics with strangers. Not the kind of person I'd hang out with under normal circumstances. But he's been through his own fair share of trials over the years. I can only imagine how my parents would be if similar things had happened to them—if one of them had seen the other die, if someone they'd cared about had been killed, if they'd been alone for years and years with only the memories of their Games to keep them company. "He's strange. He doesn't have the best sense of personal boundaries. He's kind of loopy, even a bit skin-crawling at times. But I think we have to take into account his isolation all this time before—"

"You seemed pretty creeped out when I found you two. Look, Twel—Ember. I've endured my fair share of creeps. I can tell when older men are staring at girls less than half their age. Trust me. He's a creep. Come on, you can't be so naive as to _not_ see it. Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

"So let's say he is a creep," I shoot back. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Well, I don't know if it's just you, or if he'll be a creep toward anyone else in the group, but I'd say he should be taken care of."

I stare at her. "Taken care of. In a permanent sense?"

"If necessary, yeah. God knows I would've loved to kill plenty of creeps in the past."

"We can't just kill him, Glimmer! Are you forgetting how he's helping us? Giving us food and water?"

"Oh, yes, because creeps _never_ act helpful so you'll let your guard down," she sneers. "Okay. Let's put it this way. He feeds us, waters us, shelters us, yay. Then he tells you that as payment, he wants you to screw him. What then? Still not going to admit he's a creep then?"

My stomach turns at the thought. _Blegh. _"He hasn't asked for anything like that. Or any payment at all."

"So he's helping us out of the goodness of his heart? People like him never do anything for nothing. So what, he knew your parents? That's enough reason for him to give up a bunch of his supplies for two dozen kids he doesn't give a shit about?"

"He says he knew my mother—"

"He says. _He_ says. Does he have any proof to back up anything he says? Did your parents ever tell you anything about him to make you trust him?"

I frown and look away. "You have a point, Glimmer. But you're also conjecturing a lot. He _might_ do this. He _might_ ask that."

"Because the best time to eliminate a threat is _before_ it can hurt us."

"So we just kill him? Without giving him a chance to explain himself? Are we going to kill everybody we meet on the road?"

"If they're creeps and potential rapists, _yes._"

"I'm sorry, Glimmer, but I just don't agree with your 'kill first, ask later' mentality."

Glimmer stares hard at me. "Okay. Fine. Your funeral. You don't trust me, I get it."

"Glimmer, that's not—"

Too late. She's gone.

I suppress a sigh and trudge to the cabin, passing by Rue, who stares at the poppies in my hand for some reason. In the cabin, I place the flowers next to my brother and feel his burning forehead. "Is it bad, Finch?"

"No worse than before. He should fight it off easily, with another day or two of proper rest, food, and hydration."

Another day or two of staying here, then. Earlier, I wouldn't have minded a break from traveling, but now Glimmer's planted a seed of doubt in my mind. And the memory of that uncomfortable conversation with Alasdar isn't going to fade any time soon. But I quickly forget those nagging feelings when Ced begins to mumble and opens his eyes just a crack. "Mom?"

I stroke his sweaty hair. "No, it's Em."

He doesn't seem to hear me, and his eyes are already closed again. "Mom, you won't believe the crazy adventure Em and I just had. Tell you...all about it…"

Silently, I listen to his nonsensical, feverish mutterings before he drifts back into unconsciousness. When his breathing becomes deep and steady, I press a kiss to his forehead. "Let me know if you need anything," I tell Finch before heading out to see if anything needs to be done.

* * *

"Glimmer?"

The older girl looks at her, squinting in the pre-dawn light. It's the last watch of the night—technically morning now. "What?"

Rue twists her hands. "I...I heard some of what you and Ember were talking about last night. About Alasdar."

"What about it?"

The young girl tries to quash her fear at the memory of the crazy man who held a razor to her throat. _Don't tell. I'll know._ But she can't keep it in anymore. She _needs _to tell someone, and although she wouldn't have thought it, the girl from One seems like the person most likely to believe her right now. "I need to tell you something." And as Rue whispers to Glimmer, neither realizes they're being watched.

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**To all the wonderful readers who asked for more Glimmer: **_**et voila. **_**Told you she'd have her moment to shine (no pun intended)! And there's more where that came from. :)**

**As you can surmise, next chapter is going to be a pretty intense one. If you want a preview before Chapter 19 goes up (which I'm guessing is going to be in three weeks, since I'll be traveling again), send in a review within a week of this chapter's publication and I'll be sure to give you a snippet in my review response!**

**Even if you don't manage to send in a review within a week, I'd still greatly appreciate any feedback. I like to know that people are still reading this monstrously long fanfic, and reviews would probably help me survive my upcoming finals with my sanity intact. (That's why Alasdar went nuts, because he didn't get reviews. Bwahahaha.)**

**Thank you for reading, and please review!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much to Ro-Lee, vampluver19, ForeverTeamEdward13, TessStark, EarlGreyTea, Dipper, Mely-the-Mockingjay, dleshae, MoonlitSorrows, lizzietish13, and Swimming Trees for their lovely reviews!**

*****NOTE*** As you may have noticed, the rating on this story has gone up to M because of some heavy themes in this chapter. Nothing terribly graphic, but my beta agreed with me that with this chapter, the story is getting a little too dark for just a T rating.**

* * *

Nineteen:

**Trigger warnings: sexual assault, mention of past rape (and murder). If any of these may be issues for you, keep an eye out for the "Begin trigger warning" and "End trigger warning" labels at the appropriate page/line breaks.**

* * *

Glimmer approaches me in the morning. "Rue told me something very interesting during my watch just now."

From what I recall, Glimmer was on the last shift of the night. What would Rue need to tell Glimmer? "Okay?"

"About Alasdar."

I try not to frown. "She went to _you_ about this?" Not me? The twinge of jealousy I feel might be petty, but Glimmer isn't high up on the list of people I would imagine Rue and the other younger kids going to for help.

"She overheard some of our conversation and thought I'd believe her more readily."

Okay, that hurts. "I would've heard her out, whatever it was."

"You were pretty stubborn about standing up for the creep."

I take a deep breath. I could argue for hours with Glimmer about the "right thing" to do about Alasdar, but I remind myself that it's more important to find out what Rue knows. "So what did Rue say?"

"If it makes you feel better, she didn't give me all the details. I think she wanted to wait for you before telling the whole story. All she told me was that she came upon Alasdar alone, and he said some things that alarmed her, and he did some things that freaked her out."

"_What?_ What did he do?" My mind travels to horrible places. I thought Rue seemed a bit off yesterday afternoon, but I assured myself that she would tell me if she'd experienced anything truly awful. But she didn't. She said she was fine. She straight-up lied to my face, and I totally fell for it. I could smack myself.

"I tried to ask, but she clammed up. I told her we could wait for you to wake up, and she agreed." Glimmer folds her arms. "Now do you believe he's a creep?"

Maybe Rue lied to me yesterday, but I know she wouldn't lie or exaggerate about something like this. I have no idea what happened with her and Alasdar, but my mind is in the worst places right now. "Yeah. You were right. Let's find Rue."

The usual cluster of kids that Rue hangs out with haven't seen her yet today. We check the cabin, but only Finch and Ced are in there. She's nowhere in the rest of the camp, either.

"Where could she have gone?" I wonder.

Glimmer's green eyes darken. "We haven't seen Alasdar either, have we? He didn't even show up to dinner last night."

My stomach plummets. "You don't think…?"

"I'm thinking he could be capable of anything."

Oh, God. If anything happens to Rue because I was stupid and didn't see… "We need to tell the others." I manage to more or less compose myself by the time we debrief Cato, Marvel, Clove, and Thresh. Also Finch, who temporarily left Cedric so she can find out what's going on.

"We gotta find Rue," Thresh says as soon as Glimmer and I are done.

"I agree," I answer. "The question is how."

"This forest is Alasdar's territory," Cato says. "He knows it way better than any of us. He'd know all the best hiding spots."

Clove frowns as she spins one of her knives. "Is she even still alive?"

Thresh rounds on her, but I think Clove has a valid point. We have no idea how long Alasdar has had Rue, and it wouldn't take long for him to slit her throat. My stomach roils. If Rue is dead, and I could have done something to stop it if I weren't too busy standing up for her murderer...

"We should act assuming she still is," Marvel chimes in. "Don't assume she's dead unless we know for sure."

"Why would he take her?" Finch asks.

"She knows something about him that he doesn't want the rest of us hearing about," Glimmer replies. "She didn't tell me everything. Maybe he wants to silence her."

Finch shakes her head. "That doesn't make sense. He'd have gone about it in a smarter way. Dumped her body and come back before any of us even realized anything was wrong, acted just as surprised as the rest of us when we found her. Made sure he had an alibi, or faked an accident. What he's done now, it's obvious he's behind it."

"So does he want to kill her or not?" Thresh demands, voice rising.

Before we can continue arguing, we're distracted by the din of a flock of birds shooting upwards from some distant trees, cawing in alarm. Then, the high-pitched scream of a young girl. I can barely make out the names she's crying out—mine, Thresh's, Finch's, Cato's, the gamut of practically everyone in the pack.

Clove points northward. "They're over in that direction," she says, just as another passel of birds takes off several meters east of where she's pointing, and Rue shrieks again.

"They're moving," Marvel says grimly. "Fast."

The pack is understandably unnerved and bewildered by what's going on. We quickly update everyone on what's happening with Rue and Alasdar, and Cato begins to give orders. Periodically, we spot a disturbance in the woods, usually accompanied by Rue's shrill voice, as Alasdar presumably hauls her quickly from place to place. There's no pattern to his movements, so we can't predict where he's heading or try to ambush him.

Splitting up is usually a terrible idea. But if we want to find Rue fast—whatever Alasdar is doing to make her scream, it needs to stop ASAP—then we'll have to.

Most of us will be going into the woods in groups to look for Rue and Alasdar. Some people will stay behind, namely Ced (who is blearily aware of what's going on but prohibited from leaving the bed) and Finch. So will the younger kids: Ardi, Jean, and Marilou. Vidal, with his bad leg, is no help in the woods, so he'll also stay by the cabin.

Cato draws me to the side. "Ember. Don't take this the wrong way, but can you stay here?"

I definitely take it the wrong way. "I want to help find Rue." I still can't shake the nagging guilt that I could have done something to stop this before it happened.

"Ember, think about it. If Alasdar comes here when everyone else is gone, it's easy pickings. Cedric's sick, the three little kids can barely fight, Finch is so-so, and Vidal can't move fast. Somebody here has to be a good fighter."

He has a point. I can imagine Alasdar setting us all up to get us to abandon camp, so he can get at whoever's been left behind. Someone does have to remain here, and aside from my guilt over what's happened, there's no good reason for it _not _to be me. "Okay."

Cato quickly kisses me. "We'll find her."

The remaining sixteen of them split into groups of four. Cato, Marvel, Clove, and Thresh each lead a squad, and they hurry off in different directions, all too aware that every second that passes is another second that Rue is in the grasp of a madman.

"I'm scared," Jean whispers, once the seven of us are alone at camp.

"You'll be fine," I try to soothe her. "Finch, Vidal, and I won't let anything happen to you guys. Now, why don't you three go inside the cabin and sit with Cedric?" They do as I bid, leaving me, Finch, and Vidal positioned at the sole entrance to the one-room dwelling.

"It's all happened so fast, I'm still a little confused about what's going on," Vidal says quietly, so the younger kids won't hear. "Alasdar took Rue? Why would he want to hurt her?"

"I'm not sure. She heard something yesterday. And Alasdar did 'something.' I don't know what exactly." I kick a rock near my foot. "Glimmer tried to tell me yesterday that he was bad news. I didn't listen."

"Hey, don't beat yourself over it, okay? It won't help, and I'm sure you had your reasons." Vidal pats my shoulder.

"He's good at pretending." We look at Finch. "He visited Cedric yesterday, when I was the only other person there. Alasdar seemed very normal. I didn't have a clue there was anything wrong with him, or that he would do something like this."

Well, if the all-knowing Finch didn't notice anything, then I shouldn't feel too bad that I didn't. Nevertheless… "Still. I let myself ignore the signals because he was talking about my parents, and I—"

We hear a scream. The shrill, high-pitched scream of a young girl.

"Rue!" I gasp.

"It sounds like she's south of us," Vidal says. "But I thought they were to the north? We sent all the groups north, didn't we?"

Geeze. We knew Alasdar moved fast, but we didn't think he could move _this_ fast, and with Rue in tow.

_The forest is Alasdar's territory,_ Cato said. We knew it. And we still underestimated him.

Vidal scrunches his nose. "One of the groups must have heard her just now, right? Someone will circle back around south?"

"We don't know that." I stare in the direction of Rue's scream, calculating how much time it would take a group to turn back around—assuming one even heard her—and not liking the number I come up with. "We can't just wait here and hope someone else will find her."

"We're supposed to stay here for a rea—"

Rue screams again, distinctly in pain. I am reminded of a Games I watched once, where the Career pack captured one member of an alliance and made her scream so they could lure her partner into a trap. It worked perfectly.

And despite knowing better, it's working again now. I know it's a trap. I know there's a reason Alasdar is making Rue scream, as bait for us. But we have to go after them. We _have_ to find Rue. I would go after Cedric if it were him, and there's no reason I wouldn't do the same for her. "Vidal, will you be fine watching the others by yourself?"

The boy from Ten no longer protests, even though he definitely knows what I'm planning and is clearly unhappy about it. "Yeah. I can do it."

"Good. Finch, come with me." I make sure I'm well-armed with my knives and my blowgun—loaded with stun darts—before the two of us slip into the forest.

Periodically, Rue screams, sometimes sobbing. We hastily follow her cries, trying not to jump at every other little sound in the woods.

"_Ember!_" we hear Rue shriek, quite closely. "_Ember, help!_"

"Look out!" Finch stops me from falling over a trip wire. As we stumble back, neither of us sees the second trap. A cord snaps up Finch's ankle and whisks her up, flipping her upside-down in the air, but not before her head bangs against the trunk.

"Finch!" I cry. She doesn't respond, dangling limply in the air. Her mess of red hair blocks my view of her head, so I can't tell if she's bleeding.

I make to free her from the trap, but Alasdar's voice stops me. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Slowly, I turn around. Alasdar stands there casually, chewing something leafy in his mouth, with a trussed up Rue tucked under his arm like a package. I can see her trying not to sniffle, as blood seeps from cuts on her arms and legs. "Alasdar," I say carefully. "Please don't hurt her anymore."

Rue squeaks as he readjusts her beneath his arm. "Oh, yes." Alasdar sighs. "Wasn't planning on hurting the mousey. Let her go the first time, you know. Told her it'd be our little secret. Pinky-promised and everything. But she _ratted me out._" He gives Rue a violent shake, and the large knife in his other hand comes dangerously close to slicing her face.

"Okay. Okay. Alasdar." I hold my hands up in a pacifying manner. "Let's talk about this. What is it you want?"

He laughs, sounding more than a tad unhinged. "So many things, sweetheart. So many things."

I swallow, waiting for his laughter to die. "Alasdar, what will it take for you to let Rue and Finch go?"

"Well. For starters, sweetheart, you can drop your weapons. All of them." When I hesitate, Alasdar lets the tip of his knife scrape Rue's cheek. "Come on, sweetheart, I don't have all day."

My blowgun and knives clatter to the ground.

"Now…" Alasdar reaches into his pocket and tosses something at me. Handcuffs. One of the sets Cato and Marvel acquired that first day, after they handled the Peacekeepers following us. "Found these on your sled. Put those on."

As the knife continues to dance around Rue's nose, I grit my teeth and snap the cuffs around my wrists.

"Tighter."

Cursing him in my head, I tighten them.

Alasdar smiles and, without warning, drops Rue on the ground. "Come here, sweetheart."

My feet feel like lead as I step toward him. "Ember?" Rue whispers.

"It'll be okay, Rue," I tell her. I feel the weight of the small knife I managed to keep hidden in my sleeve. It's all I have left, so I'll need to wait for the most opportune moment to use it.

As soon as I'm close enough, Alasdar grabs my shoulder and begins to hustle me away. "Now let's have a nice, long chat, sweetheart. We'll want to put some distance between us and your friends. It won't be pretty if you have to hear them."

I stare at him, horror pooling in my belly. "What did you do?"

His grin is not reassuring in the least. "I told you, sweetheart. I'm good at setting traps."

* * *

Cato didn't think he would miss the ashen wasteland that is the part of the forest the Capitol bombed, but he does. It's easier to see if anyone else is in the woods with you when the trees aren't covered in thick leaves, and the shrubs and foliage aren't everywhere.

Any anger, any upset he feels towards Alasdar (what kind of a sick fuck—no, don't think about it right now), about Rue—even at himself, for not seeing the signs—he pushes away to deal with later. He can't afford to be distracted now by his emotions.

Glimmer nudges him, raising the bow that she's temporarily claimed since Cedric is out of commission. "I see tracks."

He does, too. Fresh. Large boots. Definitely not Rue's. And none of the pack has ventured this far from the cabin, as far as he knows, so they must belong to Alasdar. Cato, Glimmer, and the other two in their group, Susanna and Jaxon, are as quiet as they can as they follow the footprints. Cato grips his gun, his eyes flicking back and forth, seeking any human motion.

He spots the trap just before Jaxon trips and falls into it. Cato lunges and grabs the smaller boy by the collar, stopping him from falling into a pit filled with sharpened spikes. "Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!" Jaxon wheezes as Cato tugs him back and sets him on solid ground.

Glimmer stoops beside the pit. "It doesn't look freshly dug. I think this has been here for a while. Maybe even years."

Susanna clutches her axe. "So the guy just randomly set up traps in these woods whenever he felt like it?"

"Lovely hobby, don't you think?" Glimmer stands back up. "I almost miss the arena."

Cato thinks back to Alasdar's claim, when they first met him, that he set up the traps to fend off animal predators. _Just a few,_ Alasdar said. Bullshit. Cato wouldn't be surprised if there are dozens out here, and designed more for humans than for beasts.

_Designed for tributes,_ Cato thinks. Alasdar may have left the arena, but perhaps the arena never left Alasdar.

They proceed with far more caution than before. Susanna spots the next trap, a net covered in small spikes that would have riddled more than a few holes in whoever got caught in it. They toss some stones to trigger it harmlessly.

The next trap they don't realize is a trap until it's too late. The remains of a campfire are smoldering near a pile of boulders, its smoke emitting a pungent stench. Definitely recent. Cato investigates the source, but it looks like Alasdar just tossed in whatever would create an odor. What's the point? Or has Alasdar gone so crazy that there really isn't a point?

He sees the expressions of terror on Susanna and Jaxon's faces, and he whirls around. Several meters away is a black bear, staring beadily at them, its sharp teeth bared. _Wild black bears were definitely not covered at the Academy._ Mutts, yes. Bears, no.

Cato and Glimmer exchange a grim look. Slowly, she reaches for an arrow in her quiver, and he raises his gun.

The bear growls and begins to run toward them. They fire.

* * *

The farther we get from where we left Rue and Finch, the happier Alasdar seems to become. Soon his hand moves from gripping my shoulder to gently holding my elbow, and he's whistling _The Hanging Tree_ again.

"Alasdar," I ask as calmly as I can, "where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe, sweetheart. Somewhere safe. Don't want those friends of yours trying to ruin everything, hm?"

"What exactly is 'everything'?"

"Oh, what should have happened years ago! Before _he_ stole everything from me. But never again. He can't stop us now."

"He?"

"I know, sweetheart, I hate him for it too. But I won't let him take you from me again."

Okay. Alasdar has clearly lost whatever remaining hold he had on reality. I only met him yesterday, so I don't know what he means by all this "years ago" and "again" nonsense. I think back to what he mentioned they day before, about Mom, about this mysterious Candy. He was very fixated on blue eyes and familial resemblances and his memory of his dead district partner.

Does he...think I'm one of them?

We arrive at a small meadow filled with wildflowers. It would be an admittedly charming locale, if I weren't being held hostage by a insane man who can't tell me apart from some woman from his past and who may be murdering my friends right now via booby trap. In a strangely gentlemanly fashion, Alasdar seats me on a stump, then starts to make a fire nearby. Lying near me is a sack. He seems to pay me no mind as I poke around with my foot. The sack's only contents are a loaf of something that kind of resembles bread, two roughly-carved toasting forks, and a canteen.

I stare at the items, trying to puzzle them out, but a gunshot in the not-too-distant distance distracts me. Only three people in the pack handle the guns: Cato, Clove, and Thierry. They know not to shoot unless absolutely necessary. What would have provoked one of them to fire?

"Ah. That'll probably be old Blackberry." Alasdar looks pleased as his fire springs to life.

"Blackberry?" More gunshots follow.

"Terrible bitch of a bear, nasty temper, she lives around these parts. We have an understanding not to trespass on each other's territory. But I know the best ways to lure her over when I need her. She'll be happy. She hasn't had manflesh in a while."

I gape at him. "You...you set a _bear_ on my friends?"

"Blackberry does as Blackberry pleases. If they provoked her, it's on them." The gunshots have stopped. That could mean either a very good thing—they stopped the bear—or a very bad thing, which I can't think about right now or I'll go more insane than Alasdar.

My fingers twitch as I contemplate reaching for my hidden knife. But unless I'm fast enough to bury it in Alasdar's throat without him realizing I'm approaching, I won't be able to do much, since the cuffs are still on me. I'll need to talk him into taking off the cuffs, somehow.

Alasdar has taken the sack and is slicing the lumpy, unappetizing-looking bread-thing, with the same large knife that he probably used to cut Rue (but sanitation is the least of my concerns at the moment). "What are we doing right now, Alasdar?"

"We, sweetheart, are about to have our long-awaited Toasting."

Our _Toasting?_ As in, the traditional marriage ceremony in Twelve? I clamp down on the automatic protests threatening to explode out of me. _Get cuffs off now, express disgust later._ I can't outright ask him to take them off or be too obvious in my attempts. He may be off his rocker, but I don't want to underestimate him again. "Are you sure we have the time for that? If they're shooting the bear, it doesn't sound like Blackberry is that far away. Bears aren't the best wedding guests." Maybe I can convince him that it's best we both have our hands free to fight, in case the bear wanders over.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I know how to handle Blackberry." He works a crust of bread onto each toasting fork and presses one into my hands.

I hold the utensil awkwardly, since my wrists are still cuffed. I get an idea. "Oops!" The fork and bread fall onto the ground. "It's, ah, a bit hard to hang onto like this."

Unfortunately, Alasdar doesn't even so much as loosen the handcuffs. All he does is replace the bread with another piece, and this time, when he gives me the fork again, he keeps his hand around mine to make sure I hold on. Dammit.

He's uncomfortably close as we sit next to the fire, waiting for the bread to darken. I'm trying to come up with another plan, but my head is swimming with the thought that I'm currently undergoing a Toasting with a man whom I _absolutely in no way, shape, or form_ want as a husband. When we were little, before Rain left for the Capitol, we used to pester Mom to tell us about her own Toasting with Dad (which they didn't have until years after their official Capitol-approved wedding, not until after they'd fallen in love for real) and giggle about our own weddings and Toastings one day—whom we'd marry, what our dresses would look like, where we'd live, if our husbands would carry us over the threshold, even the kind of bread.

This is not what I expected or wanted. At all.

_It's not real,_ I tell myself. _It's not real._ Not only have we skipped over some of the steps in the complete Toasting ritual, but I'm pretty sure there's a loophole in there if one party is being coerced. _It's not real. It's not real._

My feeling of nausea, however, is real.

Alasdar is satisfied with the color of the bread, which looks no more appealing dark than it did light. The next step in the Toasting is for the bride and groom to feed each other from their own pieces of bread, but even though I'm trying to play along and bide my time, there is no way I will ever feel compelled to feed Alasdar. But he doesn't seem to care much for convention, because he just breaks off a chunk of bread from my fork and, after spitting out the glob of green leaf he's been chewing on, pops it into his mouth.

Then it's my turn. "Open wide, sweetheart."

When I make no move to do so, he grabs my chin, forces my jaw to fall, and stuffs some of the bread into my mouth. _Ugh,_ that is disgusting. It's like he mashed together a bunch of root vegetables and water and hoped for the best. Even Rain's cooking tastes better than this. Alasdar keeps his hand on my chin, making sure I chew and swallow before he lets me go.

"Not the best bread, but it was all I could manage on such short notice," he says cheerfully, as he offers me some water. I'm desperate to wash the rancid taste out of my mouth, so I let him tip some down my throat.

I realize I'm still holding my toasting fork. The tip is kind of dull, but…

Alasdar is quiet. I look up. He's staring at me intensely, in a way that gives me the icky sort of goosebumps and makes me want to run away and never look back. "I've waited so long for this, sweetheart. You and me, as it should be. As it should have always been."

Does he think he's talking to Mom or to Candy? Either way, it doesn't bode well for me.

"Just the two of us. No Haymitch to ruin everything. Just us."

Haymitch? As in, my dad? Dad's the "he" that Alasdar was ranting about before? What did Dad do? What happened with Alasdar and my mom?

* * *

**Begin trigger warning.**

Alasdar is reaching for my face. I realize what he's about to do, and my stomach roils. "Alasdar, please, I don't—"

"Shhhh. It's okay, sweetheart." He firmly grasps my face with both his hands. "We've been waiting for this forever." He mashes his lips onto mine.

There's mint on his breath—the leaf he was chewing earlier—but it can't fully cover up years of poor oral hygiene. I struggle, but his grip on my head is too strong. His kiss is wet and unpleasant, like he's slobbering over me. A dog would lick me less messily. When he tries to stick his tongue in my mouth, I lose it.

Alasdar pulls back, yelling, when I thrust the toasting fork into his neck. The dulled implement doesn't bite very deeply into his skin, nowhere near close to a critical wound, but it distracts him enough for me to push him off and take off running.

As I race away, I nearly trip on some slippery ground, but I manage to stay on my feet. I cannot afford to trip. My wrists are still cuffed, so I may have some trouble getting back up if I do, and I can hear Alasdar already in pursuit. _No tripping. _I remember what he said about traps, and I panic. I'll have to avoid those. It would be so easy for me to run straight into another trip wire at the speed I'm going, but I can't slow down. No-win situation.

The gunshots! They weren't that far away. If whoever fired them survived the bear, maybe they're close enough to hear me shouting. "HELP!" I screech at the top of my lungs. "_HELP!_"

A quick glance over my shoulder tells me that Alasdar isn't in sight. He's a good deal older than me, so I could probably outrun him, outlast him. The problem is his traps. Not how I want to die. So the next chance I get, I roll under some shrubbery and press myself as close to the ground as possible, ignoring the uncomfortable position of my bound hands.

Alasdar soon comes into view. I watch him run past me, but it doesn't take long for him to realize I'm not ahead of him, and he backtracks. "Come out, come out, sweetheart," he croons. "That wasn't very nice what you did back there, but I forgive you. Just come out, and we'll have a nice little talk."

_Don't make a sound, don't make a sound, don't make a sound._

His tone grows irate when he realizes I'm not coming out. "I'm not in the mood to play games, sweetheart. Don't make me angry. It won't be fun."

Well, I don't like his idea of _fun_ anyway, so…

When I continue to remain hidden, Alasdar growls, brandishes his large knife, and angrily starts hacking at another clump of bushes. Shit. Is he going to do the same to my hiding spot? Do I run now while his back is turned?

Then, by some stroke of luck, there comes a noise not too far away. It could be any ordinary forest noise, but Alasdar apparently thinks I'm making it, and he runs toward the source. For a few moments, I remain huddled under my shrubbery, afraid he'll come back. He doesn't.

Any minute, he'll realize that it wasn't me over there, and he might come back here to check the bushes again. It's tempting to stay and hide forever, but I need to go. Now. Before he returns. I make my best guess as to the direction of the cabin, and as quietly as I can, I get up and start hurrying that way.

I have to devote some attention to looking over my shoulder for Alasdar, so although I try to keep an eye out for his traps, I can't pay attention to every single detail of my surroundings. Paranoia and fear keep me on edge, so when a squirrel dashes across my path, I'm startled and I stumble, right into a booby trap. Soon I find myself hanging by my ankle, like Finch. But unlike Finch, I don't hit my head and get knocked out, so I'm more than conscious enough to comprehend the debacle I just got myself into. Having seen how Marvel was unable to free himself from the same trap, I know it's even more futile for me to try, especially handcuffed. I still have the little knife in my sleeve, but the cuffs hinder me from reaching it.

Such is how Alasdar discovers me.

"Well, well, well, lookie here." He circles me like a vulture, all the more dizzying since everything looks upside-down. "Nice try, sweetheart, but you can't hide from me in my own woods." He easily ducks my clumsy attempt to whack him with my bound fists. "None of that, now." Alasdar lets me down from the trap none too gently, and I land in a heap on the ground.

Before I can try anything, he painfully seizes my wrists and slams them in the dirt above my head, then raises his large knife. Is he going to cut off my hand? Stab me in the face? Slice off a few fingers?

None of the above. He buries the blade in the ground, just below the chain connecting my cuffs, so I can't move my hands—the knife blocks the chain, and the hilt is too high for me to raise my arms. Trapped.

"Now. Where were we, sweetheart?" Frantically, I try to kick him as he descends, but he pins my legs. "Don't do that," Alasdar growls. "Don't make me do what I had to do to Candy."

I gulp.

He traces a finger on my cheek. "She was my ally in the Games. Same district and all that. Easier for her to trust me than anyone else, and she knew she wouldn't last long alone. Things were going pretty well in the arena, all things considered. Didn't meet any other tributes while we were together. Had supplies. Gamemakers weren't targeting us. So I thought, this is a nice time to celebrate, while we have the chance. Candy wanted it, you know, same as me. But that sweet, _stupid_ girl was making such a commotion! Screaming and clawing and crying and scratching! All that noise was going to draw the other tributes to us! What else could I do? I had to make her quiet, right? All it took was a little prick here…" His ragged fingernail traces a circle on my throat. "Nice and quiet. I tried to hold on to her, but those filthy Gamemakers took her from me." Alasdar sighs. "You made it better, though, sweetheart. So beautiful, like Candy, but in a different way. She was like a flower, while you were the sun. I wanted you for so long, but I decided to wait until the time was right. But I waited too long. You got reaped. When I heard your name being called, I told myself, if she dies, I'll kill myself. Kill myself. I couldn't have lived without you, sweetheart. Then, I let Haymitch do that star-crossed lover nonsense, because it helped you. But it went too far. _He_ got to marry you. _He_ got to kiss you. _He_ got to put his spawn in you. He got it all, even though _I'm_ the one who's always loved you. But it's okay now, right? We'll kill Haymitch, you and I, and he'll never keep us apart again. Just us. Together, forever."

Alasdar nuzzles his nose against my neck. I squirm and try to scream. "Stop, _stop_—"

He clamps his hand on my mouth and looks at me warningly. "Don't. Test. Me."

I think about poor Candy, how she fought when Alasdar raped her and he killed her for it. Although it repulses me to just lie there and let him touch me, I force myself to stay still. _I don't want to die. _I wince when he bites my neck, and I try to put myself in a far, far, faraway place. I think about the train ride to the Capitol, when Ash yelled at me before Dad kicked him off, yelled about the other tributes raping me and killing me and fucking my corpse—turns out it wasn't just the crazed outburst of a druggie after all, look at Candy—and how I brooded over it afterwards and told myself that I would rather die before I let anyone touch me like that.

It's happening now. And my earlier, almost-forgotten oath to die fighting is falling flat. _I don't want to die. I don't. I don't. I don't._ But I don't want this, either.

He begins to tug off my clothes, tearing what he can't easily shed. My eyes feel hot and wet—_don't cry, don't cry, don't cry._ I feel sick as his hands roam greedily. _It's not supposed to be like this, I don't want him, why me, whymewhymewhyme. _My breath shudders, and I try to think of pleasanter, lovelier things. Late yesterday afternoon, Cato and me by the flowers, talking to him, teasing him. The night before that, in our tent, exploring each other's bodies, him stopping when I wanted him to stop and not holding it against me. Our first real kiss, when that smile lit up his face and I felt like I couldn't breathe. All of our little talks, each conversation making me learn more about the boy whom I fall more and more for every—_oh God,_ is Cato even still alive? Was he the one shooting at the supposed bear? Did Alasdar's traps get him—

A cool, feminine voice cuts into my desperate thoughts. "Let her go."

Never in my entire life have I been so happy to hear Glimmer's voice. Alasdar twists around to look, and I'm able to see over his shoulder how Glimmer stands not too far away, bow and arrow ready in her hands.

Alasdar clenches his jaw, hand still on my breast, which is now covered only by my bra. "Sure you know how to use that, honey?"

"I'm a Career. What do you think, creep? Now, I highly recommend that you get up and step away from her, unless you want this arrow to skewer your neck."

Glimmer isn't the best at archery, but far be it from me to bring that up at this moment. As long as Alasdar thinks she can get a killing blow, maybe…

Alasdar's nostrils flare. His other hand twitches, where his fingers are curled around the waistband of my underwear. After a tense eon of uncertainty, he slowly removes his hands from my person. He stands, wrenches his knife out of the ground, and hastily retreats into the trees before Glimmer can try to shoot him in the back.

**End trigger warning.**

* * *

Glimmer follows him a short distance, making sure he's really gone, before coming back to me. I'm still lying on the ground, frozen. "Come on," she mutters, helping me sit up. "He's gone. He can't hurt you."

I slowly regain feeling in my body. As I do, I recognize one of the returning sensations. I give her no warning before I puke.

Glimmer holds my hair back while I empty the contents of my stomach on the ground. Even after it's all out, I dry-heave for several moments, like my body is trying to purge all memory of everything that's happened. When I'm finally done, she hands me her water bottle, and she says nothing as I use it all up to rinse my mouth repeatedly.

My shirt is unsalvageable. My jacket, which I'm still wearing, is mostly untouched, and Glimmer helps me zip it up, since I'm _still_ handcuffed. I at least manage to pull up my own pants. "You okay to walk?" she asks. I nod, and she carefully places her arm around my shoulders before steering us back to the cabin.

On our way, I eventually regain the ability to speak. "What happened with you guys? Cato?"

"We found some of Alasdar's traps, but we didn't really have any problems until the bear. Cato and I shot it, but it was massive, and it just kept coming. Luckily, Clove's group was close enough to help us. I think they took the bear down, but I can't be one-hundred percent sure. I got separated from them during the encounter. The bear was coming at me, and I took a wrong step down the side of a hill. It was a big hill. I tumbled quite a distance away. Yelled up to whoever could hear me that I was fine and that I would find my own way back to camp, because there was no way I was climbing back up that hill. Then I heard you yelling for help." Glimmer pauses, decides it isn't necessary to continue the story from there, and goes back to an earlier point so she can elaborate on the traps they found. As I listen, I vaguely wonder why Glimmer, who usually doesn't talk to me at all, seems to be rambling. I don't complain; the stream of chatter has a surprising calming effect, even if I don't completely absorb everything she says. The rambling almost feels like a bubble, putting distance between me and the rest of the world.

As we near to the cabin, people sounds reach us. Most of the others, if not all, must be back. We draw closer and closer, and my breathing inexplicably grows shallower, sharper. My feet stop and plant themselves on the ground, refusing to take another step.

Glimmer also halts and looks me in the eye. "Hey. Ember. It's okay. No one there is going to hurt you. You know everyone. They know you. You're safe." She keeps repeating the assuring mantra, as I try to re-master the proper use of my lungs.

Marvel suddenly jogs onto the scene. "Hey! I knew it was you two I saw from up th—"

I react violently. I pull my little knife out of my sleeve and wield it as threateningly as I can, handcuff chain clinking as my arms tremble.

He freezes where he is. "Whoa."

"Back up, Marvel," Glimmer hisses, and he quickly obeys. "Ember, it's fine. It's Marvel. You know Marvel."

I shake my head and try to tamp down my fight-or-flight reflexes. "Yes. Marvel. Yeah. I know. I know. Sorry, I just…" I lower my hands, holding the blade loosely.

Marvel notices the state I'm in. "What happened?"

"Later." Glimmer looks at me. "What do you want to do right now, Ember?"

I don't know. I don't know. I stare at my hands, which are covered in dirt from all the times I fell today. My skin crawls as it recalls the memory of Alasdar's roaming hands, and the bite mark he left on my neck throbs. I shudder. "I want to be clean."

"We can do that," she readily agrees. "How about we go into the cabin, and maybe Finch and I can get you some hot water and soap? How does that sound?"

I nod, and Glimmer turns back to Marvel. "Clear a path to the cabin. I don't want everyone staring as we walk up. Have everyone turn their backs, or go for a walk, whatever. Everyone but Finch."

"Got it." Marvel pauses. "Cato's gonna want—"

"Cato can wait."

Cato. Cato's alive. Cato's okay. I cling to that thought as Marvel runs ahead. Glimmer and I give him a few moments to do as she asked before continuing onward. When we do, we find that Marvel has accomplished his task very thoroughly. Somehow, he's managed to herd everyone to the far side of the clearing, so the cabin lies between them and me, obstructing my view of them and vice versa. Cato's voice rises above the others, demanding to know what's going on. I feel the strong urge to see him, but even stronger is the urge to be clean. If I could shed my skin right now, I would.

Finch waits by the cabin door, looking a little battered. "Are you okay?" I ask her. "How did you get down from the trap?"

"I'm fine. Rue got me down. She said after you and Alasdar left, she wriggled her way to the knives you dropped and cut herself loose before waking and helping me." Finch's sharp, knowing eyes take me in, and when she and Glimmer exchange a look, I know that she's surmised for the most part what happened. "Marvel mentioned something about cleaning up," Finch says. "Your brother has woken up. His fever is beginning to pass. He should be able to manage the short walk outside, so you can have the cabin."

I latch onto her words like a life-ring. "I'd like to talk to Ced."

Finch nods. "Okay. Glimmer and I will get some bath stuff."

Cedric is sitting up, looking around blearily. He smiles at me at first, before realizing something's very wrong. "Em? What happened?"

I smile weakly. "Hey, Ced. Lucky you, sleeping through everything today."

His gray eyes are large as I kneel beside the bed. "Are you okay?"

"You're awake, and you look a lot better. I'm really happy about that."

"You didn't answer the question." He looks down at my hands. "Why are you handcuffed?"

I look at my wrists as well, wondering how I'm supposed to bathe like this. "I don't want to talk about it right now," I say quietly.

"That's okay." Hesitantly, Ced opens his arms, offering a hug. My smile is a little more solid this time as I gladly take the offer, even though I can't embrace him back—handcuffs ruin everything. I bury my nose in his curls, which smell of sweat and sickness, but beneath all that is Cedric. "When you're ready, you can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?" he murmurs.

"Yeah. I know, nerd." I lean back from him. "Can you stand, or walk? I need to wash up, so unless you want to be here—"

"I can walk." Cedric throws his blanket aside and quickly stands up, wobbling a little after a day of lying prone, but he quickly finds his footing. "Food poisoning sucks," he complains.

"Well, next time don't eat wild strawberries without washing them."

He makes a face and shuffles out of the cabin.

Finch and Glimmer return with towels, washcloths, a bar of soap, a change of clothes, and even a rare shampoo bottle and toothbrush from the supplies. (Everyone's teeth are going to rot by the time we get to Thirteen, I swear. There's no fair way to distribute the few toothbrushes we have. I know some people have forgone oral hygiene altogether, but I've been making Ced use his finger and toothpaste to clean his teeth.) "Water's heating up," Glimmer announces. "In the meantime, we need to get those cuffs off you."

Although we know it probably won't work, they try using the key to the other set of handcuffs we have, the ones that Cato and Marvel took off the Peacekeepers who followed us in the arena. Surprise, surprise, it fails. Fortunately, Finch has a backup plan. She's taken a bobby pin from the supplies—because hair things are crucial in the Games, evidently—and she uses it to pick the lock. It takes a while, but she manages to get both cuffs off eventually.

The hot water is ready by now, so Glimmer goes to fetch it. Meanwhile, Finch has a serious question for me. "Ember. Did he actually rape you?"

I suppress the memory of his avaricious hands and fingers. "No."

Finch tentatively reaches out and, after assessing my likely reaction, touches my forearm lightly. "All right. What did happen to you, whatever it was, was very bad. But we don't have to worry about any medical complications."

Medical complications. Like bleeding. Or disease. Or pregnancy. I feel especially nauseous at the last thought, and I thank God that it's out of the realm of possibility. I honestly don't know what I would do if that had actually happened.

Glimmer comes back with a steaming pot. "Right. Will you be okay by yourself in here, Ember?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it'll be fine."

"We'll be right outside," Finch promises. "Let us know if you need anything."

They stand guard outside the door. They're trying to be quiet, but I can pick up snippets of their whispered conversation, as Glimmer tells her what she knows of what happened. I don't mind. One fewer person for me to inform. I feel a budding headache at the thought of everyone else asking me what happened, of me having to tell them. Maybe I can write a memo or something, so I don't have to deal with it twenty-three times.

I peel off my clothes, one article at a time. Jacket, shoes, socks. I automatically reach for the hem of my shirt to pull it up, only to touch the bare skin of my stomach. The remnants of my shirt are in the woods. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and move on, quickly shedding the rest of my clothing before I think too much.

The water is hotter than I usually like it, but today, I find a strange comfort in the way it stings my skin and turns it red. Purifying. Cleansing. Renewing. Lather, rinse, repeat, skin and hair. I feel the urge to scrub myself again and again, until I scrub, off an entire layer of skin, but even now I think practically and decide against wasting the soap and shampoo. Washing and shampooing twice is enough. I dry myself with a towel and change into the new clothes. They brought a new shirt, new jacket, new underwear, new everything except shoes. I bundle up my old things and deposit them in a corner, to take care of later. I'd like to burn them, but my aversion to waste reminds me some of it can still be washed and mended.

I open the door. Finch and Glimmer quickly stand up. "Feeling better?" Glimmer asks.

"Yeah." I look at Finch. "Is everyone okay? Did anyone get hurt?"

"Don't worry about them."

"I want to know what happened." Finch hesitates at my request. "Please."

Finch recounts everything she heard from the others, before Glimmer and I arrived. The four search groups came back before long, having realized that they were all following false trails and Alasdar was long gone. By the time the first group trickled back, Finch and Rue had returned, so they all knew Rue was safe—but they soon realized that I wasn't. Once all of them were back, a large group—spearheaded by Cato—went back out to look for me, while Finch looked after those who'd been injured by Alasdar's traps. (There's a quicksand-infested marshy area that Marvel's group got stuck in, but Una, from watery Four, knew how to escape. Thresh almost tripped into a pit filled with spikes, but Thresh's sheer size saved him from falling in because he simply couldn't fit into the hole.) After a while of futile searching, the squad looking for me came back to camp to regroup and plan another strategy, and they were about to go out again when Glimmer and I returned. Finch tells me that I was in the woods with Alasdar for a few hours. To me, it felt like forever.

"Are you hungry?" Finch asks.

I shake my head. I might throw up again if I try to eat. My throat feels dry as I prepare for my next question. But I have to ask it. "Does anyone know where Alasdar is?"

Glimmer frowns. "No one's seen him."

So he's out there somewhere. Waiting. "He won't just leave us all alone," I hear myself say. "He's going to try something."

He's going to come back.

He's going to find me.

Finch and Glimmer's voices are distant, muffled. I have a vague notion of me giving them an excuse to leave me alone—I need to rest, or something—and they soon leave me be in the cabin. I huddle against a wall, wrapping my arms around my knees, and try to focus on my breathing. _In. Out. In. Out._

What's wrong with me? I can't breathe, I can't talk, I can't function like a normal human being. I could've avoided all this, if I hadn't been so stupid and run into that last trap. I should have jammed that fork deeper into his neck, tried to get a killing blow. I should've tried harder to get him to take off the cuffs. I should've seen that first trip wire and not made Finch get knocked out. I should have tried to use my blowgun on him, before he could get his knife anywhere near Rue. I should—

"Ember?"

My breath hitches. It's Cato.

The door doesn't open, but it creaks. I imagine him resting his forehead against the wooden slab, one hand pressed against the surface. "Glimmer told some of us what happened. Or at least, what she saw happen. She and Finch said you're okay, for now. But I wanted to hear it from you. If you're willing."

I open my mouth, but my throat doesn't cooperate.

He sighs softly. "It's fine if you're not ready to talk. But I'm here. Whatever you need, I'm there."

_Speak up. Talk to him, you idiot!_

My voice refuses to work. I hear him walk away, and my heart sinks.

_What a fuck-up you are, Ember Abernathy._

_No, no, no,_ a morbidly sarcastic part of me interjects. _Don't you remember? The Toasting? You're Ember Greenburn now._

A mirthless burst of laughter chokes out of me, as the tears finally escape and stream down my face. Ember Greenburn. What a joke. What a sad, sad, joke.

* * *

**Wow. That was killer to write.**

**As usual, if you review within a week of this chapter being published, I'll send you a preview of Chapter 20. And no matter when you review, I always respond.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Surprise early update!**

**Thank you so much to all my reviewers: ForeverTeamEdward13, Mely-the-Mockingjay, Randommmfanatic, Dipper, FwuffyUnicorn, TessStark, jafcbutterfly, LunaWolfSunTigeress15, vampluver19, lizzietish13, Ro-Lee, Martapt, dleshae, Cookiedoodles168, and Swimming Trees.**

**Reader Responses:**

**Jafcbutterfly: I imagine many people probably share your sentiments about Alasdar. As for the Toasting, Ember is aware that it wasn't real/legit; her thoughts are just going to some dark and irrational places in the aftermath. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**Martapt: Thank you! Summer holidays have indeed started, but alas, I cannot loaf around all day doing nothing but writing fanfiction. :( I will still do my best to update, and I hope more frequently than I managed this past semester!**

* * *

Twenty:

"I want the pelt."

Thresh, who is apparently an expert on bear carcasses (he claims that bears are a problem in the woods by the fields of Eleven), rolls his eyes. "Clove, we need about twenty pounds of salt to dry bear skin," he repeats. "We have closer to twenty ounces."

Clove scowls deeply. "Look, pal. I fired the shot that killed that black bear. And I. Want. My. Trophy. So you're going to figure out a way to get me my bear skin. Got it?"

Thresh just shakes his head and goes back to helping Vidal butcher the meat from the bear that they dragged back to camp. Waste not, want not.

Cato looks back at Finch as she finishes up tending to his wound. "Are you done?"

"Yes." She tightens the bandage a little harder than necessary. "Next time you get clawed by a bear, don't wait several hours before telling me. You're asking for an infection."

"I'm fine, aren't I?" He flexes his arm and decides the bandage won't impede much movement. "How is she?"

Finch pauses gathering her supplies. "I told you, she's fine."

"Then why hasn't she come out of that cabin yet?"

The redhead sighs. "_Physically,_ she's fine. Mentally and emotionally, not so much. Psychology isn't my forte. Glimmer has been more help there."

Right. Glimmer. One of the last things Cato ever expected to see is how uncharacteristically gentle and patient and understanding the Career from One is being with Ember right now. Not that he knows what exactly Glimmer has been doing for her, because Glimmer has effectively barred anyone besides herself, Finch, and Cedric from going into the cabin while Ember is occupying it. He and Glimmer have already had a huge row over it, but she is of the staunch opinion that no male, except Ember's brother, should be alone in the same confined space as Ember right now. Which Cato understands.

But he definitely doesn't like it.

For the thousandth time that day, Cato violently curses Alasdar in his mind. He was already prepared to beat the crazy old man into a pulp for Rue. But now? Now not even death is good enough for him.

He remembers how his group came back to camp, sans Glimmer, who'd disappeared during the encounter with the bear (but he'd heard her shouting she was fine, so he hadn't worried overly much). Everyone else had already returned, including Rue—who informed them that Ember had taken her place as Alasdar's hostage. Cato completely forgot about everything else—the deep scratch on his bicep, Glimmer's absence, everyone else's injuries from the man's insane traps—and immediately took another group with him back into the woods. But after several moments of desperate searching, Marvel convinced him that they needed to go back and strategize before attempting another search-and-rescue.

They were in the midst of planning how to smoke Alasdar out (not necessarily literally, but it was within the realm of possibility) when Marvel whooped and ran off. It only took Cato a few extra moments to realize he'd seen Ember and Glimmer. But before Cato could take off and join them, Marvel hurried back and began hustling everyone to the far side of the cabin.

"You too, Cato."

"What? Marvel, let me see her—"

"No, Cato. No. Trust me. Wait."

It took ages, and Cato had been about to snap if he were kept in the dark for a moment longer. But after Ember finished washing up in the cabin, Glimmer finally told them what she knew. Most of the others were just told that Ember had a nasty encounter with Alasdar, but she gave more details to him, Marvel, Clove, Thresh, and Finch.

"After I got separated from the rest of you, I heard her yelling for help. So I went looking for her." The expression on Glimmer's face turned frigid. "I found her tied up on the ground and the creep about to rape her."

Cato nearly went ballistic. He's pretty sure he would've torn into the woods to hunt down Alasdar, right then and there, if Marvel and Thresh hadn't restrained him.

But Glimmer had no idea what had happened before that point. They were things that only Ember knew—which meant something the rest of them would have to wait to find out, because both Glimmer and Finch agreed that if she wasn't ready to talk, then she wasn't ready to talk.

But Cato was unable to just take their word for it, that she was fine. He had to know for sure. So when Glimmer and Finch were distracted, he went to the cabin and spoke to Ember through the door.

All he got was silence. He didn't take it personally, of course not. It's just...he wanted to hear her voice.

Cato broods over the next two steps of his plan. The first is to find Alasdar. The second, which he spends far too much time fantasizing about, is to make him pay. Most of his ideas so far involve Clove lending a hand, because his own preferred method of killing would put Alasdar out of his misery far too quickly.

"Hey, Cato?" Marvel sits beside him.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what you're planning right now. But if you want my opinion, I don't think we should go back out into the woods again to look for Alasdar."

Cato looks sharply at him. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I don't think we'll accomplish anything trying to hunt him down in his own territory. Look at what happened today. We tried to find Rue, we tried to find Ember, and we failed miserably both times. Why? Because Alasdar knows this place way better than we ever will. _And_ he's spent years lethally booby-trapping it just because. He's not worth risking anyone else getting hurt or even killed in one of his traps. If you ask me, I think we're better off leaving here as soon as possible. Cedric's not so sick anymore, and no one is especially injured. We should leave this place behind us before Alasdar can do anything else."

"We can't just let him get away with what he did!"

"I don't want to let him off the hook either," Marvel retorts. "But you gotta think clearly, man. We could waste days, weeks even, looking for him, and still not succeed."

"And what if he causes trouble for us down the road, because we let him go?"

"The farther we get from here, then the farther he gets, if he follows us. There will come a point when we won't be on his turf anymore, and either he'll give up or we'll have a better shot at cornering him. If we stay, we're at a disadvantage."

Cato hates to admit it, but Marvel is right. The only thing that would keep them here is their thirst for vengeance. But before he makes any decisions, he thinks about the most important person in this situation. "We should let Ember have a say."

Marvel nods slowly. "Yeah. We should."

It's an uphill battle, but eventually Cato manages to convince Glimmer to at least ask Ember if she wants to talk to him. He paces the length of the cabin, his heart feeling as if it were being squeezed tightly, while he waits for her answer. He _wants_ to give her time. He _wants_ to give her space. But whatever Glimmer says, he doesn't think they should be letting her wallow completely alone for hours on end. He doesn't see how that would be conducive to recovering.

Finally, Glimmer steps back out.

* * *

_Stop it. Stop being so pathetic. Go outside. Talk to people. Be human again._

My pep talk to myself doesn't work. My body freezes at the idea of going outside. Outside is where Alasdar is, somewhere. Outside is dangerous. Irrational thoughts, for sure, but powerful enough to make me stay where I am. Still, the cabin is rapidly losing its appeal, and not only because it's dim and borderline claustrophobic. It's occurred to me that this is Alasdar's cabin. This is where he sleeps, where he eats, where he lives, where he stores all his junk. I don't go anywhere near the bed anymore, even though it smells mostly of Cedric now.

_What a coward you are. Afraid of every harmless little thing._

There's a knock on the door. "It's Glimmer."

"Come in."

She enters and shuts the door behind her, and joins me where I'm sitting on the floor. "Cato has a request."

I turn my face toward her. "What is it?"

"He wants to talk to you. He says it's important."

I stare at my hands. _It's Cato. Cato's safe. Cato won't hurt you._

Glimmer continues, "If you feel comfortable talking to him, great. But if you feel at all uneasy about the idea, don't feel pressured."

I still can't comprehend how this Glimmer is the same Glimmer from just a few days ago. "Glimmer?"

"Yeah?"

"How come you're so good at…" I wave my hand vaguely. "This?"

Glimmer is quiet for a moment. Then she answers, "I told you how I've had experience with creeps. Well, some of those creeps don't know what 'no' means."

My heart sinks. "Glimmer…"

"It's been years. I've long since learned how to deal with them. What's past is past. But yeah, I know what you're going through—although in my case, nobody was chasing me through the woods."

"Did they at least get punished?"

She snorts. "No way. District 1 tends to give victims short shrift when it comes to rape. Especially when you're like me. I didn't pick the sexy, sexual angle. That was decided for me when they roped me into the Academy, but that doesn't matter, right? Still my fault for dressing and acting that way, even though it was the Academy teachers who ordered me to resemble some kind of femme fatale 24/7. Everything's an act in One. We're all frauds there." She nudges me. "Don't forget, Ember. Whatever anyone says, it wasn't your fault."

Not my fault. It's not my fault. Not my fault for being stupid. Not...my fault.

I exhale. "Tell Cato he can come in."

Glimmer leaves. I hear her muffled voice before she retreats.

Then footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Like Alasdar's when he was hunting me—_no._ Not Alasdar. I know these footsteps. Even, steady, confident. I know these footsteps. I know who makes them.

The door creaks open, and then I'm staring at Cato, and he's staring at me. I last saw him this morning, before he and the others went to look for Rue, but it feels like an eternity has passed since then. He looks much the same as before, maybe a little more tired, maybe a little more anxious. And there's a bandage around his arm that I'm curious about.

He clears his throat and asks, "Do you want the door open or closed?"

I swallow. _This is Cato. Cato is safe. You trust Cato._ "You can close it."

Cato closes it, and the cabin is dim again. He gestures uncertainly. "Is there somewhere I should sit?"

"Wherever is fine."

So he sits near the door, opposite me. I instinctively fret about how he's blocking the way to my only escape route, but my higher faculties win out and remind me that I won't need an escape route.

_Cato is safe._

"How are you feeling?"

Simple question. Complicated answer. At times I'm numb, and it feels like my body and my mind are disparate. I don't like feeling nothing, so I force myself to confront my emotions. But then that leads me to feeling too many things, fear and panic and dread and shame. It's overwhelming, so I suppress it all, and I return to numbness. A vicious cycle. "I'll live." Cato watches me carefully. I can feel him trying to see past my words to the truth, which even I'm not sure about. I clear my throat. "What's so important?"

"We need to make a decision about what we're going to do. I wanted your thoughts."

Okay. Yes. Decisions. Something to focus on. Something else to think about. Something normal. "What decision?"

"We're trying to figure out whether we should leave tomorrow or stay a while longer."

I think I know where this is going. I close my eyes for a few seconds. "Is this about Alasdar?"

Cato nods. "Marvel doesn't think it's safe to stay on his 'territory.'"

No, it wouldn't be safe. Besides that, I'm ready to leave this place and never come back. Never think about it again. "But you have a different opinion?"

Again, he nods. "I want to find Alasdar. Take care of him before we go."

_Take care of him._ As in, capture him. Kill him. I imagine the scenario, if we decide to leave without searching for him first. Back on the march, on our toes even more, waiting for him to sneak up on us, to nab another of the younger kids. To try to get me again. I grimace. "Alasdar aside, do we have other reasons to stay or go?"

"To stay, no. Finch says your brother is well enough to travel again. To go, maybe. That depends on how much we want to stick to our schedule."

Our schedule. To get to District 13. Thirteen, where it's safe—I hope. Thirteen, where my parents and Summer are—I hope. The thought of my parents makes tears well up in my eyes. I really, really want them right now. I want Dad to hug me and tell me he'll protect me and that no one will get past him. I want Mom to hold me and promise me that it'll be okay, that _I'll_ be okay.

I want to go home.

"I'd like to leave."

"All right. We can do that. I'll tell the others." Cato stands up but hesitates with his hand on the door. "Ember."

"Hm?"

"Is there anything I can do?"

Suddenly, I find that I really don't want him to go just yet. It was shaky at first, but the whole time he's been here with me, I've felt okay. Normal. Safe, even. I'm desperate to cling to that sense of safety. I recall how I thought of him while Alasdar was pawing at my body, thinking about Cato and how good he is to me, how my mind was able to go away to a place where I wasn't about to be raped and murdered, to a place where I could lose myself in good memories during the last moments of my life. I think about how it feels like I've known Cato forever even though it's just been a few weeks, how we only had our first kiss two afternoons ago but now I can't imagine ever being so physically and emotionally intimate with anyone else. I think about how so many possibilities lie ahead for us, how there's even an "us" to speak of. I think about how close I came to losing all that—no, how close Alasdar came to taking it all away (_it's not my fault_)—and never knowing if the whatever-it-is Cato and I have is something that will last the tests of time, because I could have been killed so, so easily today. Alasdar almost took it all away from me. And now that it's back in my hands, I don't want to lose it. I don't want to let it go.

To my horror, I realize that I've started to cry. I'm an ugly crier. I look and sound awful, one of the reasons I try so hard never to do it. Now that it's started, I can't stop. I have to let it run its course. Sobs heave in my chest as tears flood down my face, blurring my vision. But not to the point that I can't see how Cato immediately moves to kneel beside me. I reach for him, burying my fingers in his shirt and crying into his chest. He wraps his arms around me and gently tugs me onto his lap, and even as all the saltwater seems determined to leave my body in a noisy fashion, I feel swathed in a cocoon of warmth and, more importantly, security.

Eventually, my sobbing subsides. The quiet, steady beating of his heart, mere inches from my ear, helps me even my breathing. He's stroking my hair, an action that's always had a relaxing effect on me, and it doesn't fail now. "I think I got snot on your shirt. Sorry," I mumble.

I feel his low laugh rumbling in his chest. "Pretty sure my shirts have seen worse."

"Yeah. I remember washing bloodstains out of your first one." Sadly, that shirt was burned during the fire-bombings, and made unsalvageable when we had to cut it off him.

"Yup. After you told me to strip."

I can't help giggling, which seems to have been his intended aim, judging by the small smile on his face. "You… You're so vain, you know that?"

Cato brushes a strand of hair out of my face. "With a girl like you by my side, how can I not be vain?"

My hands scrunch the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah. Broken, frightened girl like me."

"Ember, you're not broken." He does that lovely thing where his thumb rubs circles in my cheek, and I lean into it. "You're too strong for that. You might not feel like that at the moment, but you are. And soon, you'll begin to feel like it and believe it again. And yeah, you're scared right now, but anyone would be if they'd just survived what you went through. But you won't always be scared. You'll feel safe again. And I'll help you, if you let me."

I place my hand over his, where it rests on my cheek. "You're already helping."

He smiles. "Good."

"You're such a softie, did you know that?" I tease. "Who knew?"

Cato sighs. "Everyone who knew me before age six."

"Oh. This I have to hear." I adore little Cato stories.

He rolls his eyes, but he obeys. "My brother sometimes likes to bring up how I apparently used to be a huge 'pushover' and 'crybaby' when I was little. According to my mother, though, when I wasn't throwing godawful tantrums, I was naturally 'sweet' and 'sensitive.'" Cato makes a face. I laugh. "Either way, my father didn't like it. He thought I was too soft-hearted and weak to be a volunteer, to be a tribute, to be a Victor. So several weeks before I was supposed to start at the Academy, he took me to the pound, and he made me watch them put down the animals there. We went there every day until I stopped crying."

I stare at him. "That's terrible! How could he make you do that?"

Cato shrugs. "It's a common strategy they use at the Academy to inure students to death. My father just started me early, because he thought I needed the head start. If he hadn't, then the Academy would have labeled me an 'extreme' case and probably had me actually kill some of the animals myself until I stopped caring."

"Wow. That's...ghastly."

"That's how you breed killers. And that's how I stopped being a 'softie' for so long." He leans forward and touches his nose to mine. "Then you came along and ruined my father's and the Academy's work. They won't thank you for that. I was supposed to be their big success story, to prove the effectiveness of their methods in transforming crybabies to Careers."

"They can complain all they want," I murmur. "I'm going to keep the real Cato."

He shakes his head. "Just don't tell anyone else. If the others hear about what I told you, they'll never listen to me again."

"Oh, no, can't lose your reputation," I say sarcastically. From now on, I'm going to be silently giggling every time I see Cato trying to act like a lean, mean Career. Then I realize that, for the last few minutes, Cato has made me completely forget about everything I've gone through. He's made me laugh, he's made me smile. He's made me feel normal again.

Cato is surprised when I abruptly hug him, but he returns it without question, one of his hands rubbing my back soothingly.

"You're so good to me," I whisper.

"Only for you, Ember. Only you."

* * *

Cedric was only down for the count for about a day from food poisoning, and in that time the world went to heck and back. Why does he miss everything?

He has a vague notion of who Alasdar is, from that time the older man visited during one of Ced's moments of consciousness during his bout with fever. All he recalls is how Alasdar kept repeating how much Ced looks like Dad. But it turns out the seemingly kooky but otherwise normal man is really a terrible, bad guy, the likes of which he has never seen before in Twelve. Back home, most people are too hungry and weak to pull off crimes beyond small thefts, but on the occasion something really awful happens, the entire district knows about it. Mom and Dad tried to shield him from it, but of course Cedric found out about these things. He's figured out that Cray and the other Peacekeepers tend to look the other way while people take the law into their own hands, for things like assault. Murder. Rape.

At Twelve, the school implements a sexual education curriculum starting at age ten, but his parents find it lacking, so they've always supplemented the lessons at home for him and his siblings. One subject that the school never touched upon but that Mom and Dad found very important to know about was sexual assault and rape. They were careful to explain it in an age-appropriate way, but Cedric feels like he has a very good understanding of the topic. Definitely better than most kids his age.

And that's why of all the twelve- and thirteen-year-olds, he's seems to be the only one who's grasped what probably happened to his sister.

The only details Cedric knows is that Alasdar tried to attack Ember in the woods, but Glimmer helped her. He doesn't particularly want to know anything beyond that. If Ember tells him more in the future, he'll listen, but he doesn't _want_ to hear about it. Just knowing that it happened is enough.

When Ember came out of the cabin this afternoon holding Cato's hand, everybody was stunned, Cedric included. Last he'd talked to his sister, she had not seemed okay in the least. But as she walked across camp, offering small smiles to those staring, never letting go of Cato, she almost seemed like her usual self.

For that alone, Cedric owes Cato big time.

Ember spent most of the rest of the afternoon conversing with the rest of the leaders. From time to time, Ced sneaked a few glances her way to see if she was still doing okay. His sister flinched a bit every time someone other than Cato, Finch, or Glimmer got too close, but otherwise she seemed fine.

They're about to eat dinner when the Leaderboard (as Cedric has taken to calling Ember and the older kids who always seem to be in charge in some way) announces that they'll be continuing their travels in the morning. No one complains. Ced heard from the others that Alasdar apparently made a hobby out of setting up potentially lethal booby traps throughout the forest, and he agrees with the predominant sentiment that the sooner they leave, the better.

Cedric still feels faintly queasy, but he hasn't eaten anything in about a day, so he's starving. Finch recommends he eat some crackers, and if he feels better, he can try having a bit of the light broth that Vidal has made out of some of the grooslings. There's an unspoken understanding that they're pretty much going to raid whatever food, water, and other supplies they can from Alasdar's property before they go. It's not like he's been the most hospitable host. So anything is fair game, including the radio that Ced saw stashed inside the cabin while he was confined to the bed. It's ancient and it looks like Alasdar plucked it straight out of the garbage heap, but with Thierry and Marilou's help, Cedric thinks he might be able to get it working. Not that they'll probably get a radio signal out here, but he likes to fix things just to say he did it.

He's sitting with his friends, who are recounting their perspectives of the day's events. Rue is beside him, but she's very quiet, nibbling half-heartedly on some potatoes. Cedric heard about how Alasdar snatched her to lure the others away from camp and to bait Ember. "You okay?"

"Mm-hmm." She picks at her groosling.

"I think you're lying."

"It's not nice to call someone a liar."

"Even if it's true?"

Rue makes a face at him. "My arms and legs hurt, okay?"

Ced can see where someone—Finch, probably—patched up various places on her limbs. "Did Alasdar do that?"

She hunches over, distinctly upset. "Yeah. He did. But I'm fine, really. It's nothing compared to what everyone says happened to Ember."

At the mention of his sister, Cedric instinctively looks at her, where she's sitting with the Leaderboard. She's having what looks like a fairly pleasant talk with Cato, who has his hand on top of hers. Ced looks back at Rue and, after a bit of thought, reaches out and places his hand on hers. "Even though Alasdar tried to hurt her worse, that doesn't make what he did to you any less bad."

"I guess. It's just…" Rue's expression crumples. "I knew he was bad. I found out yesterday, not long after we got here. But I didn't tell anyone. He said he'd kill me if I did, but I should have tried harder. I told Glimmer during her watch this morning, but it was too late, and he found out somehow and—and—"

"Rue, it's okay. He scared you a lot, didn't he?" She nods. "You were afraid. And we all know now that he actually would have killed you, given the chance. Don't blame yourself. The only one who did anything wrong is Alasdar. Okay?"

She still looks miserable. "Do you think Ember hates me?"

"No. Definitely not. Never. She doesn't blame you, either. And she would do it all again to help you or anyone else, if she had to." This, Cedric wholeheartedly believes to be true. However awful today was, if his sister needed to go through it again to save somebody's life, he really thinks she would. "Have you talked to her today, since everyone got back?"

"No. Finch and Glimmer said we should give her space. Then she was busy with the others."

"Come on, then." Cedric stands up. Rue hesitantly follows him to Ember's little circle.

His sister sees them coming. "Hey, Ced. Hey, Rue."

Ced smiles at Ember, then looks at Rue. His friend scuffs the ground with her shoe. "I...um...I wanted to say…"

He steps away to give the two of them some privacy. The rest of the Leaderboard is discussing how they're going to proceed through the forest without hitting any more of Alasdar's traps. Cedric listens in, trying to get a sense of just what sort of traps Alasdar favors. Then he notices that Glimmer has _his_ bow and _his_ arrows. He opens his mouth to ask for them back, but then his eye is caught by another weapon, at Cato's side.

"Hey, Cato?"

"What?"

"Can you teach me how to shoot a gun?"

"Sure."

Ember whips her head around, glaring at the two of them. "_No._"

Cato shrugs. "Never mind, then."

"Ember, that's not fair!" Cedric wails.

"You already have your archery, Cedric. There's no need for guns as well."

"But archery is the _only_ thing I have. What if my bow breaks? Or I run out of arrows? I should know how to use another weapon."

"Don't give me any of that bull. I know Dad's taught you how to fight with knives. But if you want to learn something entirely new, the sled has plenty of extra weapons that aren't guns."

Cedric scowls as Ember returns her attention to Rue. "Cato," he begins.

"Your sister has spoken. If you want to learn, it's up to you to convince her."

Well, Cato's no help. The older boy is clearly wrapped around Ember's finger. Cedric hopes he never acts like that for a girl's sake.

Ember wraps up her conversation with Rue with a hug. Rue looks much better, nearly skipping as she and Ced go back to where they were sitting. "Thanks, Cedric," she tells him once they're seated again.

He blinks. "What for?"

Rue just shakes her head. "You're so smart. You'll figure it out."

The compliment makes his chest swell a bit. "Well, whatever it is, you're welcome."

She fidgets with something around her neck. "I don't know if you remember, but while you were sick, I wanted to get you flowers."

As a matter of fact, he does remember. He tells her so. What he doesn't tell her is that although he was about to reject her offer at first, he changed his mind because he remembered what Ember told him about hanging onto Rue and being nice to her.

"That was when I came across Alasdar. So I never got you the flowers. But…" Rue brings her hand down from her neck and shows him the necklace of brightly painted wooden beads that she was removing. "This is the token I brought from my district. My mom made it for me. I want you to hold onto it."

Cedric stares at it, perplexed. "Why?" He's a guy. He isn't a jewelry person.

Someone jams an elbow into his side, and he grunts before turning, surprised to find that the perpetrator of the violent action was Jean. "Just take it," the normally sweet and mild-mannered girl from Eight hisses.

To his embarrassment, he realizes that all the rest of his and Rue's friends are watching them. Cedric quickly takes the necklace with a mumbled "thanks," and he puts it in his pocket. Satisfied, Jean turns around to whisper to Marilou, and the two giggle, sneaking glances at him and Rue. For some reason, Ced feels his face heating up. Determined to change the subject, he looks at Thierry, the only one who isn't making fun of him and therefore the only sensible one in the group. "Thierry, I saw a radio in the cabin. Do you wanna see if we can fix it?"

After dinner, they get their hands on a small toolkit from the sled, unearth the radio and other potentially useful knickknacks from the cabin, and get to work. Cedric thinks Alasdar may have actually picked up the radio from a trashcan somewhere. It's filthy, and a few parts are broken. But he and Thierry—and Marilou, once she stops giggling with Jean—agree that they can probably repair it. They make good progress before it's time to go to bed.

The Leaderboard has decided that they're going to double the number of people on watch at night, until they either find Alasdar or get so far from this place that he probably isn't following them. Four people on each two-hour shift means almost everyone will be on guard at some point every night, but no one objects to extra safety precautions while Alasdar is still out there. Ced and the other younger kids, who are usually excused, offer to help out, but they're politely declined.

"But we can stay up, same as the rest of you," Cedric tells Ember as they get ready for bed.

"We know, Ced. But being on a shift doesn't just involve staying awake. You also need to be ready to fight at a moment's notice, if something happens. Do you see Jean doing that?"

"I could do it."

"You're still a little sick, Ced. Focus on getting better."

Cedric sighs and crawls into his sleeping bag. "Fine."

"We might eventually ask you guys to chip in. Then you'll be wishing you could sleep all night instead of having to stay up. Enjoy your eight hours of rest while you can." Ember ruffles his hair and gets into her own sleeping bag beside his.

He rolls over to face her. "You look better."

She smiles faintly. "I feel better."

"Cato talking to you did a lot of good, huh?"

"It did."

Cedric reaches into his pocket, so he can rub his blanket-bookmark, as is his habit. Also in the pocket is Rue's bead necklace. "You really like him, don't you?"

Ember's eyes flicker in another direction. Cedric suspects toward wherever Cato is. "Yeah, I do."

Cedric has watched his sister and the Career from Two grow very close at an alarmingly fast rate over the last few weeks. He isn't privy to most of their conversations, but he knows they definitely have a lot of conversations. And he's noticed that every time the two of them talk in-depth, they grow much, much closer. Then, making ample use of his prerogative as a little brother to make fun of his sister, he teases, "Do you _loooooove_ him?"

Ember half-heartedly swipes at him. "Be quiet, dweeb. I'm not talking about this with you."

"When are you gonna get married? Are you gonna have babies? Will you name your kid after me?"

"_Shut up._"

Cedric grins to himself as he closes his eyes. "You at least love me, don't you?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Love you too." Slowly, he drifts off to sleep.

Sometime later, he's woken up by two things. One is the irrepressible need to pee. The other is the sound of Ember whimpering.

Frowning, Cedric sits up and looks at his sister. She's tossing and turning in her sleep—she usually sleeps like a log—and he thinks she might be crying a little. "Em," he calls out softly. "Em." He shakes her, but she doesn't react.

"Don't. Please don't," he hears her mumble. Ced shakes her harder, but still no results.

Uncertain what to do, he looks around. To his relief, one of the people on watch is Cato. He hisses the older boy's name, and Cato immediately comes over. "Em's having a nightmare."

Cato looks down at Cedric's sister, and he can see the Career's expression visibly softening. "Do you want me to sit with her?"

"Yeah. I need to pee."

"Don't go alone. Take someone with you."

Cedric considers his options. The other three on guard at the moment are Vidal, his district partner Araceli, and Una from Four. Araceli and Una are girls, so...no.

A yawning Vidal readily agrees to accompany him the short distance to the latrine, but he waits far away enough for Cedric to have privacy. As Ced does his business, he feels goosebumps crawling up his arms. The forest is a lot spookier at night, and he tries not to shudder at the thought of Alasdar being out there somewhere, doing who knows what.

As he's finishing up, he hears what sounds like a scuffle and muffled yells, and the flashlight that Vidal was holding falls to the ground. Then Vidal grunts, and silence. Cedric feels cold. He hurriedly zips up his pants and reaches for the small knife that he carries around, but it's too late.

"Drop it, you bastard," Alasdar growls, holding his own very large knife to Cedric's throat.

Cedric drops it.

"Don't make a sound." Alasdar grabs Cedric by the shoulder and hastily hauls him deeper into the trees. Ced can hear hurried footsteps. Someone else must have heard the fight. Thinking quickly, Cedric reaches into his pocket, snaps the cord of Rue's necklace—_sorry, Rue_—and begins to surreptitiously drop the beads on the ground in a trail behind them as Alasdar quietly rushes them away.

The sounds of the river grow louder. "What are you doing?" Cedric asks, trying not to let his voice quaver.

"What do you think? I'm finally getting my revenge on you, Haymitch."

_Haymitch?_ Ced barely has time to wonder why Alasdar is calling him by Dad's name before the man grabs him by the collar.

"Let's see how _you_ like being drowned, eh?"

He plunges Cedric's head into the water.

* * *

**Actual conversation between my beta and me:**

_**Beta:**_** Are you kidding me? You're ending on another cliffhanger?**

_**Me:**_** Oh come on, it's been ages since I last ended on a cliffie. Like...like...uh...two chapters ago...**

_**Beta:**_** ...**

_**Me: **_**I see your point. This changes nothing.**

* * *

**Summer has started, but I'll be very busy traveling for the next few weeks (hence the early update). I have the impression that my schedule is going to be filled with things to do, but I'm going to do my absolute best to update sometime during my travels so you guys aren't stuck waiting forever for a chapter. **

**As usual, if you review within one week of this chapter being published, I'll send a preview! And I always respond to comments, no matter when they're submitted.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you so much to Swimming Trees, ForeverTeamEdward13, LunaWolfSunTigeress15, EarlGreyTea, jafcbutterfly, Randommmfanatic, Mely-the-Mockingjay, Martapt, Dipper, vampluver19, EclipseOfTheHeartAndSoul, Ro-Lee, theotherpianist and my lovely guest reviewer.**

Twenty-One:

Alasdar's rancid breath fills my lungs as his face hovers over mine. "Just us. Just you and me. Forever."

_No!_ I think frantically. _No! Stop!_ My lips feel like they've been sealed shut. I can't even scream as he starts to rip my clothes. _Don't! Please!_

I hear Cedric calling for me. _No, Ced, stop. Don't see me like this._

Alasdar is laughing. "We'll kill him. We'll kill Haymitch. He'll never come between us again."

_NO!_

My eyes fly open to the sounds of a familiar voice murmuring, "Ember. Ember, it's okay. It's just a dream."

I turn and look up at Cato, who's sitting beside me, rubbing my arm. "Just a dream," I echo.

"He can't hurt you. Not while I'm here."

I believe him. I sigh and curl closer to him. Then I notice that Cedric's sleeping bag is empty. "Where's Ced?"

"Bathroom. Vidal's with him."

I twist my fingers with Cato's. As I open my mouth to ask a question, we hear a distant commotion, and what might be Vidal yelling.

"Shit," Cato curses. We both leap to our feet and start running. I grab my blowgun from beside my sleeping bag. Una and Araceli, the other two on watch, are also racing toward the source of the noise. As we run through camp, Cato barks for the others to wake up. Marvel and Clove are the first to react, reaching for their weapons as Cato and I follow Una and Araceli.

Vidal lies on the ground, clutching his head. "Crazy old fucker moves like a goddamn demon," he growls, sitting up. He waves Araceli away when she tries to look at his head. "I'm fine."

"Cedric?" I call. "_Cedric?_" My brother is nowhere to be seen.

"Ember." Cato shines his flashlight at something on the ground. A small red sphere. Several yards ahead is a yellow one, and beyond that, a green one.

I don't pause to wonder what the little balls are. I just follow them, Cato and the two girls on my heels. The trail leads us toward the river, and as we run closer, I hear splashing and Alasdar rambling like the madman he is. The sound of Alasdar's voice makes my heart temporarily seize up—but fear for my brother wins out and spurs me forward.

We burst onto the scene. Alasdar is kneeling next to the river, holding Ced's head underwater. His frenzied mutterings fill the air, so intent on my brother that he only notices us arriving when it's too late. Without even thinking, I raise my blowgun to my lips and shoot. The dart hits Alasdar in the neck, and he collapses.

"_Cedric!_" I run to my brother's side and haul him out of the water. He isn't moving. I try to check for a pulse, but my hands are shaking too much. "Cedric, no, please, no—" CPR. He needs CPR. Mrs. Everdeen taught me, but I've never actually done it. My hands hover above him uncertainly.

"Move." Una pushes me aside, quickly checks for his breathing and his pulse, and begins to perform CPR. She presses down on his chest repeatedly and blows air into his mouth with all the expertise you would expect from a citizen of District 4.

Ced still isn't moving.

"Oh God, oh God…" _Just a twitch, Ced. Anything at all. Please._

"Ember." Cato takes my face in his hands. "Breathe_._ Una's got this, okay?"

Does she? Does she really? We don't know how long Ced was underwater before we got here. And—God, is his face turning blue? "He can't die, Cato, he can't, he can't, I don't know what I'll do if—"

"_Breathe,_ Ember."

I take a shaky breath. "Tell me he's going to be okay."

He hesitates. "Ember, I…"

Cato is saved from having to make me a potentially empty promise when Cedric suddenly coughs up water and shudders, gasping. "_Cedric!_" I throw myself at him, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around him, knowing the last thing he needs is for me to suffocate him.

My brother looks lost and dazed as he grabs my arm and leans into me. "Em…"

"Are you okay, Ced?"

"I-I-I think so."

I am gently nudged aside by Finch, who with a few others arrived sometime during my freak-out. Her even tone and the lack of overt concern in her face as she examines Ced assures me that he'll be fine.

I turn around, and Cato is there waiting for me. I hold out my hand. He takes it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to make a promise that wasn't in your power to keep," I say quietly.

"Don't worry about it." He squeezes my hand. "I just don't want to have to lie to you, Ember."

I nod. Still holding his hand, I look at the girl from Four who saved my brother's life. "Thank you, Una." She quietly acknowledges my thanks.

Then, bracing myself, I turn to face Alasdar.

Marvel is crouching beside his prone body. "Still alive. I think you used a stun dart, Ember."

Still alive. Not dead. Now what? I step closer, heart hammering so hard it might be bruising my ribcage. Seeing Alasdar like this, unconscious, defenseless—because of _my_ actions—with Marvel's spear at his throat, causes me no fear. On the contrary, I feel a grim sense of satisfaction. But nothing that could be mistaken for triumph or joy. I'm too weary for that.

"Ember." My eyes flicker to Cato. "What do you want to do?"

"Me?"

"You of all people have the most say over what we do with him."

Do I? I suppose I do. I stare at Alasdar again, feeling strangely numb. "It's not what I want to do," I say softly. "It's what we have to do. We can't let him go. We can't take him with us in a cage or something." I swallow. "So we _have_ to kill him. Right?" When I look around, no one disagrees. "We have to kill him," I repeat. It's not murdering a defenseless man, I tell myself. It's executing an insane would-be rapist and murderer.

"Then that's what we'll do," Cato confirms.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "I can't do it," I whisper. It won't bring me closure or pleasure to perform the act. It might even give me more nightmares. I don't think I even want to watch when it happens.

"You don't have to," Cato promises. "Someone else will."

The scene plays in my head. Maybe Cato will do it—but what if from now on, when I look at him, all I see is him using that sword of his to cut off Alasdar's head? An irrational worry, most likely, but one that won't leave my mind. I just don't want to risk anything of Alasdar contaminating anything of Cato. Then I imagine Clove doing it—it would be painful, drawn-out. And noisy. I don't care if Alasdar suffers or not, just as long as _it_ is done, but I definitely don't want his screams to add to my nightmares. Best that it be done by someone who won't make a scene of it, but also won't let Alasdar off the hook so easily. Someone who truly understands how horrible his acts were. I look around. "Glimmer?"

She meets my eyes and nods. I don't have to voice my request.

I reach for my brother. "I think...I think Ced and I will go back to camp now."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Cato asks.

"It's okay. You can stay, and tell me when it's over. I'll know it's real if I hear it from you." One last squeeze, then I let go of Cato's hand. As Ced and I leave with Finch and some of the others, I spare no last glance at Alasdar. He doesn't deserve it. Not my pity. Not my scorn. Not my hatred. Nothing from me. I'm just glad it's almost over, and maybe, with him dead, I'll be able to sleep again.

* * *

They wait for the sedative to wear off. They've bound Alasdar tightly to a tree, far from caring about his comfort. Cato grips his sword, even though he won't be using it. He's not entirely certain why Ember asked Glimmer to deal the final blow. He gets that the two girls have bonded this past day, but he's unaware of the details. Cato admits that part of him wanted to be the one to kill Alasdar, but honestly, as long as _somebody_ kills the bastard, he'll be satisfied in the end.

Still, he would've liked a shot at him.

Glimmer is quiet as she stares at the available assortment of weapons, considering which one she wants to use. Marvel sits on the ground, periodically prodding an unreactive Alasdar with his spear. Cato is pacing.

"So," Clove begins, twirling a knife, "how much fun can we have before Glimmer kills him?"

Cato recalls his previous fantasies of torturous deaths for Alasdar. And he thinks about how Ember probably doesn't want any of those imaginings fulfilled. If she did, she would have asked Clove to kill him. "Just remember we're not putting on a show. No cameras here, no arena here, no Games here."

They're dealing justice, not entertainment. _But since was killing children any more "fun" than a grown man?_

Still, Clove seems inclined to at least entertain herself, and she begins to throw daggers into the tree, around an unresponsive Alasdar's head. She's just about completed a semicircle framing his head when the last one hits home as Alasdar begins to stir.

The older man immediately realizes the shitshow he's in and struggles against his bindings, but he quickly realizes it's futile. He also doesn't waste his breath begging or threatening them, just glowers at them all, muttering oaths of vengeance under his breath. Clove waltzes over to retrieve her knives, and when he tries to lash out at her, she simply kicks him in the gut, winding him, before plucking her blades out of the bark and walking back.

Alasdar's eyes dart between them all, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He bares his yellowed teeth at them. "What's this, four on one? You Career scum were always too afraid to wander around alone. Untie me, I dare you. It's just little old me, isn't it? No way I could beat all of you in a fair fight. Don't you all want a piece of me, huh?"

Yes, Cato does want a piece of him. A bloody, mangled piece of him. But Cato isn't going to let him go when he's completely at their mercy. In fact, Cato wants Clove's knives to pin Alasdar's flesh to the tree as Cato slowly, methodically removes the madman's most extraneous body parts, until Alasdar is crying and begging for mercy, for what he did to Ember. After all, Clove isn't the only one who can draw out death. She's just the ones who's most obvious about her skill at it.

The thing is, looking into Alasdar's crazed eyes, Cato isn't sure if this will be more akin to executing a criminal or to putting down a rabid dog. If the latter, then things will be far less...satisfying.

Cato ambles forward, grabbing Alasdar's attention. "So. Why were you trying to drown Cedric?" Judging by the dull look in his eyes, the name doesn't register. Cato recalls what he managed to hear of Alasdar's mumblings as he held Cedric underwater, so he says simply, "Haymitch."

At the sound of the Abernathy patriarch's name, the crazy man howls and strains against the ropes. _A rabid dog, then._ "_Haymitch!_ Where are you, you treacherous fuck! Come and face me like a man! Made friendly with the Careers, didn't you? Hmm?" Then a sickly pleased smile stretches across his haggard face. "No, no, no. I killed him. _Killed him._ I got my payback. How did you like being drowned, you little shit. Heh. That's what you get for taking her from me. Maysilee is mine. Mine. _Mine._ Fuck Snow, she's _mine._"

Cato clenches his jaw. Ember has yet to completely disclose everything that went down between her and Alasdar, but he's able to piece together enough from her, and from Alasdar, to cobble up the story. Alasdar sees Ember as a Maysilee stand-in, and Cedric as Haymitch's. The madman is obsessed with Maysilee, and he has an undying hatred of Haymitch. The bare bones of what is probably a dramatic and unbelievable tale. "You crazy old fuck. I know you're far too off the deep end to really understand what I'm about to say, but I want to tell you anyway before you die. That girl you attacked, that girl you tried to rape, her name is Ember. She is not yours. She does not belong to you. She never will. That boy you tried to kill, his name is Cedric. And you failed. He's alive. You will never kill him. And the real Haymitch and Maysilee Abernathy? They're alive. They're well. They're in love and have a whole litter of children. You mattered so little to them, so little to Maysilee, that she didn't give a single shit about you during the last two decades. You mean nothing. If she could see you now, if she knew what you'd done to her children, she would be happy to slit your throat herself. When we tell her that you're dead, she'll celebrate. No one will mourn you when you're gone, least of all Maysilee Abernathy. She will rejoice with her husband, for whom she deeply cares, and that is not, has never been, will not ever be you, but Haymitch Abernathy."

That is the moment Alasdar loses every last thread of sanity. He screams insensibly, spittle flying everywhere, and struggles so hard against his restraints that they can see him starting to bleed from the chafing. "NOOOOOO! NO! NO! NO! MAYSILEE, _RUN! RUN!_"

This, Cato thinks, is what used to be the Victor who won the Games the year before his father's. This is what the Hunger Games does to you. Or was Alasdar already mad before he went into the arena? They'll never know.

When Alasdar's voice gives out, Glimmer starts forward. Cato stops her, and she narrows her eyes. "Ember asked me to do this," she says quietly.

"I know. And you'll deal the killing blow, I promise."

Understanding fills Glimmer's eyes. She looks at the other three of them and waves her hand vaguely. "Make sure to leave enough for me."

By the time Glimmer saunters forward with an arrow in her hand, Alasdar is in more than one piece and quite a bit of his insides are on his outsides. But he is still alive. Cato, Marvel, and Clove have ensured that he is very cognizant for his demise.

"Remember me?"

Alasdar doesn't respond. He no longer has the ability.

"I stopped you from raping Ember. I told you to leave her alone, or I would put an arrow through your throat. Do you remember that? Well, the funny thing is, I'm not that great an archer. I probably wouldn't have been able to shoot an arrow that accurately, unless it was a lucky shot. It was a bluff. And you fell for it."

He gapes at her. At least, as well as he can with only half a face.

"But here's the other thing. Like I told you, I'm a Career. And I can still put an arrow through your throat." Without ceremony, Glimmer swings her hand forward, and the arrow she's holding pierces Alasdar's neck.

Her choice of target is not arbitrary. With the way she's punctured his throat, Alasdar will choke to death on his own blood slowly, painfully, and very aware that he's dying. Glimmer steps back in line with the rest of them, and they watch silently as Alasdar gags, blood frothing in his mouth. Time trickles past, and his twitching grows weaker and weaker, until eventually it stops altogether.

Marvel checks for a pulse. "Dead."

Cato releases a huge breath. It feels as if a long nightmare is finally over.

"What do we do with the body?" Clove queries.

It's not worth burying. They can't toss it into the river; the water finally became clean enough for them to drink again. Maybe they could burn it, but that would be a waste of gasoline and firewood. "Just leave it here. But keep the rope. No point wasting it."

The four of them soon return to camp, leaving behind them the corpse of Alasdar Greenburn, whose funeral will only be attended by scavengers.

* * *

While we've been waiting for Cato and the others to come back, Thresh has been working some kind of preservative that he found among our supplies into Blackberry's pelt. It was the middle of the night when we all woke up, but no one has been able to fall asleep again, not until the Careers return. So Thresh has occupied his hands with the bear pelt.

As soon as Clove steps into camp, he throws the giant skin at the petite Career. Clove catches it without a problem, looking delighted. "I _told_ you it could be done!"

Thresh does not deign that with an answer, and he shakes his head when Clove starts to wear the fur like an oversized cape that trails at least a yard behind her.

I look up from where I'm helping Ced fix Rue's necklace. None of the four Careers seems particularly emotional, one way or another, except for Clove (which I think may be due more to her new trophy than anything). Marvel is uncharacteristically silent as he goes to get a drink of water. Glimmer nods curtly at me on her way to the well, to wash what looks like a blood splatter off her shirt.

Cato's hands are in his pockets as he walks toward me. I stand up to greet him. His gaze holds mine evenly. "It's done."

All the air gushes out of my lungs. When I take a deep breath, the oxygen feels cleaner and fresher than it did before. "Finally." I hug him, and we just stand there like that for several peaceful moments. We break apart when I hear Ced's hacking cough. Finch said his lungs might temporarily (or permanently, even, although we certainly hope that won't be the case) be less than stellar as a result of his near-drowning.

"You okay there, nerd?" Cato asks him.

"Yeah," Ced says miserably.

I tousle his hair. "First food poisoning, now this. I think you deserve a bit of hot cocoa—if your stomach agrees to it."

Cedric fervently declares that it does agree.

I dig up one of the hot cocoa packets, buried beneath the canned vegetables along with the other sweets among our supplies, while Cato roves around camp to see what's going on. He rejoins me as I wait for a small pot of water to boil. "Any problems?" I ask.

"Nah. At least, I don't think there is."

"What do you mean?"

He looks at me carefully. "How would you feel if we stayed here an extra day?"

I grimace. This neck of the woods is going to hold horrible memories for me for the rest of my life, and I won't be sad to say goodbye. "Why would we need to stay?"

"We've all been up half the night. I think we may benefit from one day of catching up on our sleep, without worrying about a madman in the forest. But we can get by without it."

I think we could benefit from more rest, too. It'll put us even more off-schedule, but we're already behind as it is. I suppress any personal misgivings. "We should stay."

"Are you sure?"

"Cato, don't make decisions concerning the whole group based on me alone. I appreciate it, but there's more than just me to think about." I give him a small smile. "I'm a big girl. Don't worry about me."

He leans in and kisses my forehead. "I always worry." Then he looks away and frowns. "Clove, stop that!" He stalks off to where she's terrorizing a few of the younger kids with Blackberry's pelt.

I finish making the hot cocoa and bring it to Ced, who begins to greedily slurp it down, mindless of the heat. Then he pauses, stares at the rich brown depths, and calls out, "Rue, do you want some?" She skips over happily, and I try not to grin. Maybe my little brother isn't so hopeless.

Seeing that no one seems to be in need of anything, I walk toward my sleeping bag to follow the example of the few who have already passed out from exhaustion and excitement. But as I lie there, listening to how the camp grows ever quieter as more people go to bed, I'm too tense to fall asleep. The thought of another nightmare makes me apprehensive of closing my eyes.

I hear the sound of something being dragged across the grass. I turn to see Cato placing his sleeping bag beside mine. He says nothing as he lies down, just extends his hand across the space between us. I entwine our fingers, and I shut my eyes, feeling more prepared for any dreams that may or may not come.

* * *

Seneca is pretty sure the Capitol has beautification laws, so he's uncertain how this atrocious neighborhood has avoided being razed yet. Here, the cracked pavement is littered with cigarette butts, dried gum, broken glass, and puddles of questionable substances. Most of the outdated, graffitied buildings have cracked or barred windows, and from those that are open, he can hear the sounds of drunken laughter, lechery, and general hedonism.

Then again, there's plenty of drunken laughter, lechery, and general hedonism in the posher places of the Capitol. The difference is where he's from, it's all fluffed up with wealth and extravagance.

The last time Seneca visited an area of the Capitol of this unimpressive caliber, he was looking for Rain. It was years ago, before they got together, and he went searching for her for a multitude of reasons, including concern for her safety in a place like that, and sheer curiosity _why_ she was there. All of which he soon discovered. It's a memory that he usually leaves undisturbed, more for Rain's sake than his own.

"It should be on this street," Cinna says, drawing Seneca out of his thoughts. As they walk down the sidewalk, Seneca keeps his eyes peeled for the place they're looking for, while remaining alert for potential pickpockets or muggers. Petty crime isn't a problem in the Capitol at large, but this neighborhood is probably an exception.

At last, they spot the sign they're looking for. _Aqua Vitae._ The Water of Life. As Seneca appraises the bar critically, he thinks that whatever drinks this establishment has to offer is more likely to bring death via some ungodly filth-borne disease than anything life-giving.

Cinna pushes open the door, and Seneca follows. The air reeks of alcohol, sweat, smoke, and desperation, and the floor doesn't look like it's been swept since before the Quarter Quell. (Debatable whether it was the First or Second one.) The bartender is messily chewing something as he pours an ominously green liquid into a smudged glass. Perched upon a stool on a small stage that looks like it might collapse at any second, a lavender-skinned woman in a dress that looks painted on croons into an uncooperative microphone, with a voice that would be pleasant had it not been damaged by what sounds like years of heavy cigarette usage. The establishment is moderately crowded, so Seneca has to focus both on not being recognized by anyone and on searching for Cressida.

"I see her," Cinna murmurs.

Seneca does, too. The TV director sits in the rear of the room, her back against the wall. Cressida spots them at the same time and motions for them to join her. They draw closer, and Seneca can see that Cressida shares a table with two men. One, who appears to be rather fond of facial piercings, he doesn't recognize. The other, even though his hair is now dyed silver instead of gold, he unfortunately does recognize. And judging by the second man's grimace upon seeing Seneca, the recognition is mutual.

The Hunger Games camera director nods at them. "Cinna. Seneca. Please sit." Once they do, Cressida makes the introductions. "This is my assistant, Messalla." The pierced man raises a hand. "And this is my associate—"

"Don't worry, Cress, they know who I am," the other man interrupts around the cigarette sticking out of his mouth. Caligula Sunsworth's eyes—now artificially enhanced to be silver, like his hair—swerve toward Seneca and Cinna. "Long time no see, Cinna. Look at you, Mr. Bigshot Hunger Games Stylist. All that doodling paid off, huh? Fine work you did this year. Especially the girl, that interview dress got her loads of sponsors in my circle of acquaintances—sleazebags, all of 'em, weren't interested in sponsoring at all until they saw Little Miss Abernathy had grown up. But you had a lot to work with, didn't you, Cin? Very pretty girl, just like her sister." On that note, Cal's attention turns to Seneca. "As for you, Mr. Head Gamemaker, quite surprised to see you in these parts. Never thought the man who stole Rain from me would condescend to visit this watering hole." He plucks his cigarette from his mouth and, not unintentionally, blows a cloud of smoke Seneca's way.

_Charming._ "No, not the man who stole Rain from you. The man for whom Rain left you."

"Ha! Still a posh little smartass, aren't you?" Cal fiercely grounds out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

"As I was saying," Cressida interjects, shooting Cal a sharp look, "this is my associate, Cal. I invited him and Messalla here to participate in our discussion of important matters."

Seneca tries to ignore the unpleasant entity that is Rain's ex-boyfriend. "Is this the best place to be talking about such things?"

"Snow and his cronies have no interest in this neighborhood," Cressida answers him. "Besides, we have such wonderful background noise and distractions here."

"Speaking of Snow's cronies," Cal drawls, "are you sure it's such a good idea to disclose what I think you're about to disclose to the Head Gamemaker, a.k.a. Snow's personal lapdog?"

Cressida looks at Seneca. "Cal has a tendency to run his mouth, but he has a point. The two of us might be colleagues, Seneca, and Rain adores you. But as far as I'm aware, we have some...ideological differences. You and Cinna were vague in your earlier communication to me—as you should be—but you conveyed that you wanted certain information about my contacts, which I'm not comfortable disclosing to just anyone. Frankly, Seneca, I don't know if I can trust you."

Seneca and Cressida started working on the Hunger Games around the same time. It was only in the last few years, when he was promoted to Head Gamemaker and she to director of camera operations, that they came into more frequent communication. While his relationship with Cressida has remained professional, Rain, on the other hand, struck up a friendship with the other woman. During the last few weeks, as Seneca picked apart his knowledge of Rain's life to try to understand her actions, he reflected upon everything he knew about her friends in the Capitol who might be able to give him answers. There were Cinna and Portia, of course. But Cressida—and the political conversations between her and Rain that Seneca had overheard, in the privacy of their home—almost as quickly came to mind. In the last few days, as Seneca wracked his brain for what he could do to help Rain, he realized that it was not out of the question for Cressida, despite being a Capitolite in a position of influence and affluence, to be involved to some extent with the rebellion or Thirteen, like Plutarch Heavensbee. Cinna, whose own involvement was kept minimal by Rain, long believed that Cressida knew more than she seemed, and agreed with Seneca's desire to contact her. A few vague hints, and Cressida consented to meet with them, to get a better read on them before revealing anything.

It's a very petty thing to think of at the moment, but part of Seneca is hurt that Rain chose to share such deep, dark, crucial secrets with Cressida but not himself. Then again, Cinna—and Portia, for that matter—appears to know only marginally more than Seneca. Such behavior, Seneca muses, does fit in line with Rain's tendency to protect those closest to her by contrarily pushing them away. He forgot about this proclivity of hers to shield her loved ones with ignorance, in the chaotic wake of her acts of treason.

"You're friends with Rain, aren't you, Cressida?" Seneca asks. The director nods. "Then you know...you know she is the love of my life."

Cal snorts into his glass. "Goodness, Mr. Head Gamemaker, that was so sweet, I can feel cavities forming."

"Cal," Cinna says, before Seneca can snap. "It's been three years. For Rain's sake, can you please set aside whatever differences you have with Seneca?"

"Ah, yes. For Rain's sake. Of course that's why we're all here today." Cal refills his glass with the bottle on the table. "Do tell us, gentlemen, what they do with Gamemakers who commit treason."

Seneca forces himself to ignore Cal and returns to Cressida. "Rain is currently imprisoned, unharmed as far as I can tell. But I fear the president is running out of patience for a response from her parents and the rebellion. I can't stand for her to be locked up any longer. She has to get to safety."

Cressida rests her chin on her hands. "Seneca, I believe that you care for Rain very deeply. I believe that you love her. However, call me a cynic, but that isn't enough for me. Besides appearing the paragon of a Capitol citizen, you have always seemed to me to be a practical man, governed by reality rather than emotion. How am I supposed to believe that your affection for Rain is sufficient to turn you against everything you've ever known?"

It galls Seneca that Cressida, who has clearly seen in the past the extent of his adoration for Rain, remains unconvinced of his loyalty to his fiancee. And yet, wasn't it not even a week ago that he himself was doubting the sincerity of his and Rain's entire relationship? "You saw that broadcast, same as everyone else. You know she's pregnant. Even though it's obvious there's no use trying to convince you that my love for Rain supersedes any civil loyalty toward the Capitol or Snow, you must believe there is no way I will allow my unborn daughter to remain in danger if I can help it. In this, my position as Gamemaker should count for me, not against me, because I can guarantee that I know too well the unspeakable things that the Capitol is capable of committing against children of all ages. Call me a hypocrite, call me a sentimental fool, but do not call me a coward who would turn his back on his own child."

Cressida stares at him, her expression unreadable. Then, she stands up. "I find myself suddenly in need of fresh air. Messalla, walk with me. Cal, stay here with these two gentlemen—and _behave._"

"Any questions for me, Cressida?" Cinna asks lightly.

"You and Rain go very far back, Cinna, and your position in society is vastly different than Seneca's. It was Seneca I needed to be sure of, not you," Cressida replies unabashedly. "We'll be back momentarily."

She and her assistant leave Seneca and Cinna alone with one of Seneca's least favorite people in the world. Seneca is content to leave Cinna to strike up conversation. "Cal, do you still pilot hovercrafts?" the stylist inquires.

"Yup," Cal answers, popping the last syllable. "Got my own craft now and everything. Not the largest, but very fast. Very...undetectable."

Seneca isn't surprised to hear that Cal Sunsworth got involved with smuggling. He never had a high opinion of Cal's career prospects.

"How do you know Cressida?" Cinna queries. In other words, _How are you involved with Thirteen?_

"Oh, people of like mind always have a way of finding each other somehow. In our case, we met through our mutual heavenly, apian friend."

Plutarch Heavensbee. Seneca wonders just how high up the rebellion hierarchy the ex-Gamemaker is. And, as he does every time he thinks about his former colleague, he tamps down the spurt of anger he feels as he mildly curses Plutarch for leaving Rain behind in Snow's clutches.

"So," Cal continues, "a girl, is it? The baby?"

Seneca quickly realizes Cal is talking to him. "Yes. A girl."

"Got any names?" the pilot asks, almost politely.

"We have a favorite." It was Rain who suggested naming their daughter Priscilla, after his deceased mother, who had adored Rain the moment they'd met, before he and Rain even began dating.

"That's nice, I suppose." Cal lights a new cigarette. "For the record, I really want to punch you right now."

Seneca just raises his eyebrows as he waits for an explanation. Not that Cal ever needed a reason to be angry.

"Look where she is right now: thrown in a cell, marked a traitor, at the top of Snow's list of enemies. What have you been doing all this time, hm? Sitting on your ass and kissing up to our dear old president?"

"Are you saying it's my fault for not stopping her from doing something I had no idea she was planning?"

"Must be a reason she didn't trust you."

Seneca wants to punch _him_ in the face. "You haven't seen or spoken to her in three years. What do you know?"

"_I_ know that Rain Abernathy is someone who should be worshiped like a fucking queen. You had the fortune of having her attention for three years, but now that she needs you, you can't even protect or help her. You need _us_ to come to her rescue. And really, you shouldn't speak on her behalf regarding whom _she_ has and hasn't seen the last few years. After all, Rain and I are both the...underground, sort of people. For all you know, we _have_ seen each other in the past three years. And for all you know, the kid she's carrying isn't a Crane but a Sunsworth."

A surprisingly strong Cinna forcibly restrains Seneca in his chair. "That comment was very unnecessary, Cal," the stylist coolly tells the other man.

"You couldn't even keep Rain interested for three months," Seneca hisses at the smuggler-pilot. "Try something more believable next time."

"I dunno, you had a pretty visceral reaction to something you supposedly don't believe."

"What is going on?" Cressida demands sharply, sensing the heavy tension as she and Messalla return. "Cal, I told you to behave." Cal lowers his eyes to his drink. Cressida shakes her head and looks at Seneca. "Come with me for a little fresh air, won't you?"

Seneca gladly departs from the table. He follows her outside through the back door, into an alley occupied only by trash cans and a mangy cat, which disappears when they arrive.

Cressida checks their surroundings before handing him an earpiece. "Your former colleague is on the line."

He dons the earpiece. "_Seneca,_" a familiar voice says. Plutarch. "_I'm glad to hear you're joining us._"

Plutarch leaving Rain behind aside, Seneca has always rather liked the other man. Perhaps a touch too cunning, but Plutarch knows not to pry, and he never talks excessively. Essential qualities of a good acquaintance. "I want her safe. That's all I care about."

"_Yes, there are some here who share your sentiments._" Rain's parents, Seneca thinks. "_Unfortunately, not everyone in a position of power here was as willing to expend resources before. But,_" Plutarch continues hurriedly, before Seneca can bite back a response, "_we do have a plan to get her out, and we're willing to enact it now. You won't be able to expect backup or any physical aid from us, but we can offer technological and other remote support, and there are some others in the Capitol who can help. The plan has a good probability of success._"

Seneca frowns. "Then why didn't you do it earlier?"

Plutarch hesitates. "_Some didn't think it...worthwhile. I wanted to come to her aid soon after I arrived here,_" he assures Seneca rapidly, "_but I was overruled._"

"What's changed to make you all willing to do it now?"

"_You,_" Plutarch says frankly. "_I didn't want this, Seneca, but my peers will only agree to this plan on one condition._"

* * *

Rain is daydreaming when her cell door opens. Jolted out of her thoughts, she sits up straight on her bed, watching apprehensively as two Peacekeepers march inside. One of them reaches for her arm, and she instinctively shies away. "What are you doing?" He doesn't respond, just seizes her elbow and forces her up. "Don't touch me!"

"Gentlemen, if Miss Abernathy continues to struggle, you have my permission to beat her in the stomach."

She freezes at that, allowing the Peacekeepers to flank her. "Sir," she says coolly.

Snow looks back at her with equal coldness. "Lorraine. I appreciate your cooperation. If you would come with me."

As if she has a choice. Rain squares her shoulders and, with the two human pillars on either side, she follows the president down the hall. As if sensing her unease, her baby moves nervously in her belly.

They enter a room at the other end of the corridor, all stainless steel and smelling of disinfectant. Rain suppresses her rising panic when she sees that the primary furnishing in the room is a surgical table, and beside it is a tray of prepared implements and a man in a surgical gown and mask.

"Please lie down, Lorraine."

She stares at Snow. "What are you doing?"

"I shall inform you momentarily. Now, Lorraine, are you going to lie down, or will I have to force you?"

The discomfort in her womb makes her choice for her. Slowly, Rain eases herself on the surgical table, trying not to flinch when the Peacekeepers strap her arms and legs down. Snow dismisses them, leaving just the two of them and the surgeon in the operating room.

Snow clasps his hands behind his back and looks down at her. "I must say, Lorraine, you have held up surprisingly well these last few weeks, especially after that tragic bit of news about your siblings."

Her heart wrenches. "You don't seem very torn up about it, sir."

"Believe me, the event brought me no joy. I would not have ordered their deaths if it weren't necessary. You see, Lorraine, it seems that your parents weren't taking concerns about your safety seriously. They sent no messages regarding any exchange or bargain for you, even though I have been informed that they have the means to do so. They simply didn't take my threats seriously. As such, I had to make it clear to them and the other rebels that I show no mercy to those who continue to defy me. Young Ember and Cedric were sacrificed for your parents' defiance."

_Poison. Poison is Snow's way. His words are poison. Heed nothing he says._

"I have given your parents more than ample time since your sister and brother's deaths to respond to my new offers," Snow continues. "They have continued to fail to answer. It astounds me how callous Maysilee and Haymitch Abernathy have turned out in regards to their own children. And so, Lorraine, you are here today to send them one last message before it's too late for them to change their minds."

Her mouth is dry. "What makes you think they'll be likelier respond to this message than to the previous ones?"

"Because, Lorraine, this good doctor here is going to remove something from you."

_No. No, please no, anything else…_ Her voice trembles as she strains against her restraints, though she knows it's futile. "Don't—not my baby—"

"That is entirely up to you. I am going to give you something that I offer to few people, Lorraine: options. You have two choices as to what shall be removed from your person. One is, as you said, your unborn child."

Her daughter turns anxiously. "Not my baby," Rain answers, with more conviction than she's ever felt about anything.

Snow arches an eyebrow. "You haven't heard the other choice."

"Not my baby," she repeats. He could threaten to tear out her heart, and she would still choose it. Not her daughter.

"If you're so sure, then very well." Snow nods at the surgeon. "You know what to do." The surgeon picks up a syringe, and Snow looks back at Rain. "I'm sure a curious mind like yours will want to know what's going on during the procedure. The doctor will administer a type of anesthesia that will numb your body, but allow you to remain awake. Don't worry, it won't harm your child."

The needle spears Rain's arm, and she feels its numbing effects quickly manifesting. The angle of the surgical table allows her to see which implement the surgeon selects, and as he approaches her, she's glad that she's lost the ability to scream.

* * *

**Oh look, another cliffhanger. *dodges rotten tomatoes***

**Yup, the Rain/Seneca story arc is back! But perhaps not an entirely happy occasion… As for the Alasdar arc, it is officially over. There may be aftereffects and consequences because of the pack's encounter with him, but he is well and truly dead. He will not turn into a zombie and come back to haunt them.**

**As usual, if you review within a week of the latest update, I'll send you a preview!**


	22. Chapter 22

**There is a bit of squick at the very end… Also, some conversation about drug and alcohol use.**

* * *

**One-shot contest is returning! See ending AN for details and a slight change.**

* * *

**Thank you very much to theotherpianist, ForeverTeamEdward13, LunaWolfSunTigeress15, Ro-Lee, jafcbutterfly, vampluver19, Kperry1234, Randommmfanatic, Martapt, and Swimming Trees for reviewing!**

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Twenty-Two:

I only wake up from nightmares twice during the second half of the night. Sometimes Alasdar is chasing me, sometimes I'm watching him drown Cedric and I'm too late to save my brother. And a few times, for some reason, I envision a screaming Rain. But it's usually the mad Victor terrorizing me. Both times Cato is there when I startle awake, murmuring in my ear and stroking my hair until my heart stops racing.

When I wake up for real, the sun is a lot higher in the sky than it usually is when I get up, and I quickly realize I'm the only person still snuggled in my sleeping bag. Everyone else is doing chores. I scramble up, confused why they all let me sleep so long.

"Hey, Em." Ced bounds over to me with a plate of eggs, coughing into his elbow as he hands it to me.

"Hey, Ced. Why did you let me oversleep?"

"Cato said you needed the rest. Do you feel okay?"

"I should be asking _you_ that. You're the one who almost died last night." I muss his curls. "That cough didn't sound good."

"I'm fine. It's only when I'm running around too much." And with that, he starts to run off toward where Thierry and Marilou are messing around with some device.

"Then stop running around!" I call after him to no avail. I shake my head and roam around camp, nibbling on my eggs as I walk. Some people are hauling up buckets from the well, others are constructing what looks to be a cage. When I stop to chat with Susanna, who's directing the project, she tells me they've decided to bring a few live grooslings with us on the road for eggs. The rest of the grooslings are being slaughtered and cleaned under Vidal's supervision, for more immediate consumption. Franzi and Lothar are making improvements to the sled. Finch is sorting medicinal plants being gathered by a small squadron, which is spearheaded by Rue.

Everyone is busy. Everyone is relaxed. Everyone is safe. This extra day really does seem to be doing us a world of good.

I hurriedly perform my morning ablutions before returning to see what I can do. I notice that a few people—namely Cato, Marvel, Clove, Glimmer, and Thresh—are missing.

"They've gone ahead to disable any traps along our route," Finch tells me. "We don't want any unpleasant surprises tomorrow."

Definitely not. Worry brims to the surface as I recall all the traps I heard about yesterday, quicksand and spike pits and _bears._ Alasdar would have made a pretty good Gamemaker. But surely the five of them, all together, will be okay. There can't be anything worse than yesterday's booby-traps. It's not like Blackberry had a husband-bear or anything, right?

I need to occupy myself. I realize that no one's gone near the vegetable garden; typical children, avoiding greens like the plague. I find a container, kneel beside the patch, and begin to pull up root vegetables. They're not the cultivated sort of plants, like carrots and radishes, but the tubers you'd find in the wild. Like katniss. That, of course, makes me think about my friend, and Madge, and Peeta and Gale, everyone back home. I realize with a guilty pang that I've barely thought of Ashton all this time. Some sister I am. Has anyone checked up on him to make sure he hasn't drowned in his own vomit? Has the Capitol swooped in on him for being a blood relation to the rest of our family? Have they arrested anyone else for committing the crime of being close to the Abernathys?

I concentrate on tugging up vegetables, lest I go mad from this sort of thinking. I've unearthed the last root when Cato &amp; Co. come back, looking unharmed for the most part. Marvel is wincing as he clutches his shoulder, but considering how his face lights up when Dr. Finch beelines over to investigate, I think he'll be fine.

Dusting my grimy hands on my pants, I stand, watching Cato as he approaches. "Everything good out there?"

"Yup. Marvel got bruised running away from a rockfall, but he'll live. We poked around for a mile or two. Pretty sure we hit everything in the vicinity." Cato shakes his head. "I'm having trouble imagining what could've made that loon go _that_ mad."

I think about Candy. I think about Mom.

Cato sees the look on my face. "Ember?" he prods gently.

I pick up the basket of vegetables. "I'm going to the river to wash these, if you'd like to join me." Cato agrees, and we head toward the water. He steers us well away from where Alasdar tried to drown Cedric, from where Glimmer finally killed Alasdar—and from where I presume they abandoned his body. I say nothing.

When we arrive, I'm quiet at first, concentrating on scrubbing the dirt from the vegetables. For lack of anything else to do, Cato helps. After my third tuber, I start to talk. "After we left Rue and Finch, Alasdar took me to this meadow of flowers. His deluded idea of romance, I guess." I grimace. "He...made me marry him."

"_What?_"

"We have this traditional marriage ritual in Twelve, the Toasting, where the bride and groom build a fire and toast bread and feed it to each other. Alasdar acted it out with me." I throw a vegetable back into the container with more force than necessary. "I suppose you could say I'm a widow now."

"Ember." Cato makes me look at him. "It wasn't real. It doesn't count. You weren't willing, so it means nothing."

"I know. I've told myself that. Still." I gaze at the water. "He ruined it for me."

"Hey." Cato touches my arm. "No disrespect to your district's traditions, but it doesn't matter. The intentions behind it count more than the deed itself. Whatever you did at this Toasting, you did it to survive. Besides, only three people in the whole world know about it. One's dead, I won't hold it against you, and you're the one who gets to decide what to do about it."

I screw my eyes shut. "Can we pretend it never happened?"

"If that's what you want, yes."

"Yeah. I definitely want that." I sigh and resume washing vegetables. "So. After that, in between chasing me through the woods and assaulting me, he rambled about all sorts of things from his past. A lot of it was nonsensical, but I've managed to piece most of it together. He was obsessed with his district partner, Candy, and they were allies, but he raped and killed her during the Games. I think that was when he may have started losing it. He said that his traps were how he won his Games. Afterwards, at Twelve, he frequented the sweetshop as some kind of twisted homage for Candy. My mom's family owned the sweetshop, and that's when he became obsessed with _her,_ I think. She was his favorite tribute during the Quell. And he definitely had a serious grudge against my dad. He kept saying something about how my dad stole my mom." I laugh bitterly. "I think I understand now why my parents never talked about him. If they endured anything half as horrible I did, then I'd want to forget he ever existed, too."

Cato's hand rests on top of mine. "Alasdar is dead now. He'll never hurt you or your family again."

"Yeah. I know." I turn and brush a light kiss across his lips. Cato doesn't push for more. Any contact between the two of us this past day, he's waited for me to initiate (except for soothing me after the nightmares), and I'm grateful for his patience.

He carries the bin of washed vegetables back to camp. Vidal, our resident homemaker, happily takes the container. Once Cato verifies that I'll be fine on my own, he goes to recount our replenished supplies. I wander around camp, looking for something to do, but everyone seems to be wrapping up their tasks. A few are starting to relax already, sprawling on the grass and dozing.

"Your brother's a strange kid."

I look at Glimmer, who joins me in my aimless wandering. "What did he do this time?"

"It's not what he did, it's what he said. He asked for his bow back, and he was thanking me for helping you. It was kind of sweet. Then he started bombarding me with all sorts of questions about your mockingjay pin."

My brow furrows. "What? Why?"

"They were very target questions about how it was m—"

"_Shit._" My hand flies up to the bare spot on my shirt where I usually wear the pin. "No, no, no, I forgot it. I think I left it back…" Back where the tattered remains of my first shirt are. Back where everything happened. _I don't want to go back there._

"Calm down. Ember, calm down. Look, I have it right here." Glimmer hastily takes my pin out of her pocket. "I grabbed it for you yesterday before we left. I forgot I had it, otherwise I'd have given it back to you before now."

I take the pin gratefully, rubbing my thumb over the golden bird's head, and my heart slows back down to a normal rhythm. "Thank you." The memory of when Mom told me she was giving it to me as my token replays in my mind, and my heart aches with how deeply I miss her right now. "Sorry, what were you saying about Cedric?"

"He was asking me what I knew about how your pin was made, details about its quality, that kind of thing. It felt like he was quizzing me."

I stare at her, perplexed. "Why would he do that?"

"He must've figured out somehow that my family are goldsmiths."

"Oh. I didn't know that." I give up on finding something I can help with, and we sit down on the grass near the cabin. "So, what _do_ you know about it?"

Glimmer holds out her hand, and I give her the pin. "Can't tell if it's pure gold, but if it isn't, then it's pretty close. On the higher end of gold jewelry in the Districts. Although it's been cared for very well, it's still obvious that it's quite old, several decades at least. But definitely no older than the Dark Days, when mockingjays came into existence. The maker's signature used to be here, but it looks like someone filed it away a while ago. Unfortunate, because it's very fine work. The detail on the bird's feathers and the arrow's fletching is outstanding. Had to be a master goldsmith's handiwork. I refuse to believe otherwise." She hands it back.

"Wow. That was impressive."

"When you spend your entire childhood working with gold trinkets, you pick up this sort of stuff eventually."

I gaze at the pin for a while longer before replacing it on my shirt. "I got the impression from Cato that Careers-in-training have no free time. How were you able to do goldsmithing?"

"I wasn't always a Career." Glimmer shrugs at my inquisitive look. "My dad thought it was a better use of my time to learn the family trade. Unlike at District 2, where if you don't go into the Games you at least get to become a Peacekeeper, if you're not chosen to volunteer in One, then all your years of training have been a waste. So usually only super-skilled people or people with connections or people directly recruited by the Academy train. Up until I was twelve, I spent my time working in my dad's shop."

"What happened when you turned twelve?"

"Puberty."

I stare at her. "Really? That's it?"

"Hey, I wasn't always this flawlessly gorgeous." She dramatically tosses her hair. "But once I was, people noticed. You can probably tell from looking at District 1's tributes over the years that we like to send pretty people into the Games. Pretty faces reflect well on our district, and they give us a natural boost when it comes to sponsors. Not gonna lie, the Academy was lacking good-looking girls in my year, so they roped me into training, offered to waive the fee and everything. I wasn't planning on going into the Games, I just thought it'd be cool to learn how to fight. But the longer I stayed, the deeper I got. I started years after most people begin training, so I was way behind everyone else, and I realized too late that the trainers weren't actually interested in training me. They didn't care if I was struggling at learning new skills, as long as I looked attractive doing it. Well, that pissed me off a lot, so I tried to teach myself. Sometimes I had to ask the other Careers for help. Usually the guys, because the other girls hated me for being recruited solely because I was prettier than them. I got to know Marvel a bit, he was always nice about helping out. Other guys, not so much." Glimmer's face darkens. "Let's just say, some guys didn't want to help for free." She blows a strand of hair out of her face. "So all things considered, I did a damn good job learning on my own. Good enough for the Academy to pick me as the female volunteer this year, but not good enough to convince anyone I had a real shot at winning. Everyone back home was betting on Marvel to win, even my dad. He never approved of me going to the Academy. He told me that I was six years behind, that I would never catch up, and if I ever went into the Games, I wouldn't be coming back out." She sees the look on my face and adds, "It might sound harsh, but he was right. And he said those things because he was trying to talk me out of it, because he didn't want me to get killed."

I get it. My dad has said not-so-nice things to me in the past, not out of spite but because he loves me, and brutal honesty was the most effective way to get to me. "What about your mom?"

"She died when I was little."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. I barely remember her." Glimmer frowns at her feet. "I used to wish that your mom was mine."

"You did?" It hits me, not for the first time, that everyone in the pack "knows" my family, thanks to Paneme national television. I've grown so used to the cameras that it barely registers anymore when I'm being filmed, and I seldom pay attention when snippets of my life are aired to the country at large. If I care too much, it'll drive me mad, so I do my best to ignore it.

"Mm-hmm. Your mom is very beautiful. Proved that she was smart and brave during her Games. And she always seemed so nice and poised on TV. Younger me thought she was the perfect mother. And, you know, we were both blond, so… But it was just a little girl's daydreams."

My fingers rub my pin again. "She's a pretty great mom."

"I figured." Glimmer elbows me, not ungently. "You and your brother didn't turn out half-bad, so she had to have done something right."

"Yes, in spite of my dad's attempts to derail her good work." I sigh, trying not to think too hard about what my family might be doing now. "You're not so bad yourself, Glimmer."

"Don't lie. I know I'm a bitch."

I laugh, and she joins me. Several days ago, I would never have imagined that I'd be sitting here cracking up with this girl, whom I wasn't fond of at all before, but who is now—dare I say—my friend.

* * *

Well, Finch can't say she's too surprised by this turn of events. She's never been able to hold onto friends for long. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less as she watches Ember laugh with Glimmer, the two of them looking idyllic and perfect.

But it's fine. It's all good. Really, it doesn't bother her that Ember has chosen a new confidante, a new best friend (not that Finch was ever her best friend). Finch wouldn't pick Finch either, given the choice.

It's...fine.

"Why so glum, Finch?"

She quickly masks her expression and avoids looking at Marvel as she turns to face the sled. "I don't know what you mean," she says calmly as she sorts through the medical supplies. Again. She really doesn't need to, but it gives her an excuse to not talk to Marvel.

It doesn't look like he got the memo, because the words just keep coming. "It looked like you were upset with Ember or Glimmer for some reason."

"I'm not upset with them." This is true. If Finch is upset with anyone, it's at herself for being so emotional about Ember becoming friends with Glimmer. Possessiveness and jealousy are not good traits. They're irrational.

Marvel seems skeptical. "Alright, I guess you just happened to be sulking in their direction, then."

"Is there a reason you came over here?" Her question comes out more abrasively than she intends, but Marvel's interrogation is not helping her mood at all.

"I know you hit your head yesterday, and it just occurred to me that I never saw anyone looking at it. I guess that's what happens when our only medic gets injured. So I wanted to make sure you were fine."

"I am," Finch answers crisply, even as she feels a little warm in response to Marvel's concern. "If I were in a bad state, I would know. Thank you for asking." Thinking that to be a suitable dismissal, she bends her head and focuses on recounting the rolls of bandages. She nearly jumps as gentle but firm fingers begin to poke around in her hair. "_What_ are you doing?"

"Checking your head wound from yesterday. Wow, you have a _lot_ of hair."

"I told you, it's fine."

"Hmm. I'm seeing a little bit of dried blood here. I wouldn't call that 'fine.'" He touches a particularly tender spot on her skull, and Finch hisses. "Aha! You still think you're fine?"

"It's sore. It's not going to kill me. And if it bled a little, it was only a scrape. Are you done yet?"

Marvel extracts his hands. "Head wounds can be tricky. I don't want you to take a bad turn because you didn't take care of yourself."

Finch snaps. "Look, Marvel, I'm the medic in this group. If I say I'm fine, then I'm fine. Now, will you please _leave me alone?_"

Instantly, Marvel's expression becomes guarded, and he takes a step back. "Sorry for bothering you," he says quietly. "Let me know if I can do anything." He starts to walk away.

Right away, Finch regrets snapping at him. He definitely didn't deserve that. Without thinking, she hurries after him. "Marvel, wait." He stops and turns to look at her. "I… I shouldn't have said that."

"You're well within your rights to ask to be left alone," he answers blandly. "And I was being intrusive, I'll admit."

"No, you weren't. Not really. I'm… I'm sorry." Finch looks down at her feet. "I have poor people skills. And I'm moody right now. You had the misfortune of coming too close to me."

"Eh, I knew the risks. And you're far from the worst people-person I've come across," Marvel replies, his usual cheer returning to his voice. Finch wonders at the sheer resilience of his positive attitude.

(And maybe, maybe, there's something to what Ember said about him _really_ liking Finch?)

"I really do appreciate your concern," Finch mumbles.

Marvel's mouth quirks up in a half-smile. "You look out for everyone else. Someone has to look out for you." He runs his fingers through his hair. "So, you said you're moody?"

Finch immediately feels awkward. "Yes. I did say that."

"Well...I know Ember's your usual confidante. But if you ever need someone different to talk to, I'm always available. Just call me your personal therapist, Dr. Marvel."

Finch tilts her head as she looks at him, thinking. Perhaps she can see just how deep his _like_ for her runs, based on how he responds to her. And she probably would benefit from speaking to someone about what's on her mind. So, bracing herself, she takes the plunge. "I don't know how I feel about Ember and Glimmer."

Marvel looks at her, then turns to look at where the two other girls are sitting and chatting. His expression is thoughtful. "You mean, how close they've gotten in the past day?"

She nods reluctantly. "Whatever Glimmer has talked about with Ember, I know it's been good for Ember. I can't resent that. But I still feel…" Finch trails off and ends with a shrug.

"Ahhhh." Marvel gives her a small smile. "You know that Ember befriending Glimmer doesn't stop her from staying friends with you, right?"

Logically, yes, she does know that. But there are still fears in her heart. "I'm used to people growing distant from me once better prospects come along."

"Oh, Finch. We both know Ember isn't so fickle. We've both seen how much she cares for everyone in the pack, even those two dummies who wanted to leave a while back. Once she starts caring about you, she's not just going to stop. Especially not with you. You're one of the people closest to her. She likes you. So maybe she's talking more to Glimmer nowadays, but maybe Glimmer is the person she needs to talk to right now about what she's just been through. That doesn't mean Ember's never going to talk to you again. In fact, I bet that if you go over to them right now and just sit down beside them, Ember won't think twice before roping you into their conversation."

As Marvel speaks, Finch slowly feels better. But not all her reservations have disappeared. "But Glimmer…"

Marvel nods in understanding, before Finch even finishes her sentence. "You haven't talked to Glimmer much, have you? Honestly, she hasn't talked to anybody much these last few weeks, except me and Cato and Clove. I know Glimmer isn't the most approachable person, and I wouldn't exactly call her 'nice.' But she's a good person in the ways that matter, and from what I've seen, she appreciates her new friendship with Ember. But Glimmer's not going to hog her. Actually, I think she would probably appreciate being friends with you, too. So, you know what? You're not going to lose Ember as a friend. You might actually gain a friend."

Finch has lost the tight feeling in her chest. She feels...liberated, now. "I think you might be right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm Dr. Marvel. I know how to fix everyone's problems." He looks rather pleased with himself. "Anything else I can do for you, or are you feeling better?"

"You've done plenty." Finch twists her fingers. "I think...I'm going to head over to where Ember and Glimmer are."

Marvel smiles. "Sounds like a plan. Have fun."

As he turns to go, Finch stops him. "Hey, Marvel?"

"Yes?"

"You're a pretty good therapist. It's easy to talk to you."

He grins mischievously. "How else do you think I know so many secrets?" With a wink, he saunters away, whistling merrily.

Finch shakes her head and looks again where Ember and Glimmer are seated on the grass. Then, with her shoulders drawn back, she walks over toward them. Ember spots her coming and waves, and Finch is sure she has what the other girl calls her "ghost smile" on her face as she approaches.

* * *

"Stop it! Stop it!" Summer Abernathy squeals, jumping up and down. "Give it back, Finnie!"

Finnick holds her doll just out of reach. "Only nice little girls deserve their toys. And nice little girls don't kick Finnie in the shin."

The six-year-old scowls—strongly resembling her father in that moment—and crosses her arms. "I'm sorry for kicking you," she huffs.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" The instant Finnick lowers the doll, she snatches it back and sticks her tongue out at him before flouncing off to play in the corner with the rest of her toys.

Finnick checks the time. Maysilee and Haymitch were supposed to come about an hour ago to pick up their daughter. Not that he minds babysitting Summer, when she isn't violently attacking him. But they usually aren't this late when it comes to fetching the only child whose safety they're sure about. Something must have held them up.

"Finnick?" Annie places a hand on his arm. "Is something wrong?" Annie has always liked kids, and playing with Summer seems to help keep her calm. So she tends to come with him when he's needed to watch the littlest Abernathy.

"I'm wondering where Haymitch and Maysilee are," he murmurs, not wanting Summer to overhear and worry.

"Should I go find them?" Annie offers.

Finnick is debating taking her up on that when it proves unnecessary. Haymitch and Maysilee arrive then, their expressions brighter than they've ever been in the last few weeks. While Haymitch goes to pick up Summer and toss her in the air, Maysilee tells Finnick and Annie what's happened, practically vibrating with excitement. "The hovercraft they finally sent to District 12 came back. They found them. They found Ashton, and Madge, and all the others."

"That's amazing!" Finnick exclaims, swooping in for a hug. "Your family and friends, they're all okay?"

Maysilee's excitement dampens. "My sister and brother-in-law weren't with the group," she admits. "But at least everyone else is safe now."

Finnick wisely decides not to linger on the topic of her missing family. "How are they? No one's missing any limbs or has any other minor injuries of that sort?"

"They're all fine. I'm sorry we're so late. Haymitch and I were talking to Ashton."

Finnick's brow furrows. "Is something the matter with him?"

"I've been told that he's been suffering from withdrawal the last few weeks. They're keeping him in the infirmary, to make sure he fully detoxes. Otherwise, nothing's wrong."

He hugs Maysilee again. "This is great. We really needed something good to happen."

Maysilee's expression falters, as she undoubtedly thinks about the awful news they received about Ember and Cedric, and her perpetual worry for Rain in the Capitol. "Yes. I have one son back. I'm beyond thankful for that."

Finnick squeezes her shoulder. "Do you think Ash is up for visitors?"

"He was fine when we left him. He'll be glad to see you."

Annie urges him to go while she finds Mags. So Finnick alone heads to the infirmary. Reception isn't a hassle; they simply let him through once they properly identify him. He easily finds the right door, and he pokes his head into the small, sterile room.

Ashton Abernathy lies on the hospital bed, looking miserable. His expression becomes marginally less miserable when he spots Finnick. "Oh. It's you, Odair."

"Is that any way to greet your nearest and dearest friend?" Finnick strolls in and grins down at him. "Not looking too good, Abernathy."

"Shut up, pretty boy. And who said you were my best friend?"

"Well, I'm your only friend, you miserable bastard, so by default, that makes me your closest friend."

Ash squeezes his eyes shut. "Moments like this make me wonder why we're even friends in the first place."

Ah, yes. Finnick remembers his first meeting with Ash. Finnick had been on his Victory Tour, and Twelve, as usual, was the first stop. He found the inside of the mayor's house, where the party was taking place, too stuffy, so he wandered into the backyard. There, he discovered a thirteen-year-old Ashton Abernathy well on his way to draining a bottle of good brandy all by himself. Of course Finnick recognized the slightly younger boy. It was Ash whose Games the year before had robbed Finnick of his lifelong goal of being the youngest ever Victor—not that such naive, frivolous concerns mattered so much anymore, now that Finnick had seen what the Games were really like.

But Finnick had definitely not been expecting Ash to be a thirteen-year-old alcoholic. "What's the occasion?"

Ash put his bottle down, for the moment. "Do I really need a reason to drink?"

"Most normal people do."

The blond boy barked in laughter. "I'm the furthest thing from normal." He picked up the bottle again. "Not that a Career like you would understand, with the way they beat any empathy for fellow human life out of you."

The Finnick before his Games would have angrily snapped back about Ash not knowing anything. But the Finnick now understood all too well what the other boy meant. "I have nightmares. About the tributes I killed. They haunt me all the time."

Ash stared into the depths of his bottle. "And that's why I drink." Wordlessly, he held the brandy out to Finnick. The boy from Four took a swig. "I'm sorry."

Finnick blinked. "What for? Did you poison it?"

"No. I'm sorry, because about eighteen months from now—or whenever your sixteenth birthday is—your life is gonna be shit."

"What do you mean?"

Ash cocked his head to the side. "Has no one told you what they do with pretty boy Victors like you?"

Slowly, Finnick shook his head.

"Really? Wow. So they were just gonna let you hit sixteen completely unprepared. Sorry, man."

"_What do you mean?_" Finnick repeated, a bit irate.

"Snow's going to whore you out," Ash said without beating around the bush. "He always does with the popular Victors. Any Victor, really, as long as there's a demand. Sell your body and your time to whoever can afford his price. And boy, you were popular as fuck. You probably set the record for number of sponsors. You'll never have free time again." He held up a finger. "Condoms. Make sure you _always_ insist on condoms, no matter what. Don't want to catch anything from those filthy Capitolites."

Finnick was frozen. "You're lying."

"Wish I were. Snow threatened to sell my parents, but he let them be baby-making machines instead. Unfortunately, you didn't come out of your Games with a 'star-crossed lover,' so you don't get that alternative. And don't think about getting married really quickly to avoid it. He'll just use them against you, and he won't give a shit if you're married. You remember Cecelia, from Eight, she won about eight, nine years ago? She's got another kid on the way. It's not her husband's. Honestly, she's not entirely sure whose it is." Ash nudged the bottle toward Finnick again. "It hurts, but it's the truth. When you turn sixteen, Snow will own your body."

"What about you?" Finnick demanded, desperately trying to find a way out of this, because Ashton Abernathy did _not_ look like he was lying. "Won't the same thing happen to you?"

Ash shrugged. "It might. And the Abernathy name would boost my price. Thing is, I was never stupidly popular like you were and still are. Also—" He scooped up the brandy again "—I'm kind of banking on drinking myself to death by my sixteenth birthday. Or maybe I'll be so perpetually drunk, I won't be able to get it up at all and there'll be no point. I'm thinking of foraying into hard drugs soon. Addicts aren't nearly as hot in real life as they are on TV." He took a long pull from the bottle. "Feel free to join me on my path to self-destruction. Maybe we'll both manage to avoid being pimped out by Snow."

In that moment, Finnick was extremely tempted. But then he thought of Mags. Mags whose sadness he now understood every time she watched a Capitolite stand a little too close to him. Mags who'd mentored him, been like a second mother to him. Mags whose heart would break if he imitated Ash. Her heart would probably still break, when Finnick began to be sold. But at least as Snow's whore, Finnick would still be able to pretend, for her sake, that everything was still okay. He wouldn't be in enough control of himself to be able to pretend Ashton's way.

"I survived the arena. Snow is just another nightmare I'll have to survive."

Ash looked at him then, and an unspoken understanding passed between the two young boy Victors, robbed of their innocence twice-over. Many (but not enough) months later, Finnick reached sixteen first, and sure enough, the Capitol couldn't get enough of him and his body. Ash hit sixteen the following year, and by then, he was in deep with his liquor and drugs. There were a few demands for the eldest Abernathy at first, but Ash's lackluster performance discouraged future requests.

The two of them developed an odd friendship. They only saw each other at the Capitol during the Games, with the exception of the Victory Tour of the one Victor whom Finnick trained—Annie—during the interim. Both of them were personally, profoundly victimized by Snow, and both lived with a form of self-hatred: Ash for being a barely-functioning addict, Finnick for being a whore against his own volition. Somehow, the two of them ended up looking out for each other, in the vile underworld beneath the Capitol's glitz and glamor, and they were the only ones who really understood each other's worldview.

Kindred spirits. Broken spirits, but kindred nonetheless.

"We're friends because I'm the only one who can stand you and I feel sorry for you," Finnick jabs.

"More like I'm the only one who can endure your ego for a prolonged period of time," Ash retorts.

Finnick laughs and claps him on the shoulder. "I can't believe I missed your melancholic ass."

"Staring at my ass, Odair? Should Annie be worried?" Ash starts to chuckle but abruptly stops, looking queasy.

"If you're gonna puke, Abernathy, then I'm getting a nurse. I'm not dealing with that."

"I'm fine," Ash mutters, and the green on his face passes. "Just my entire body turning against me. No big deal."

"Well, I feel sorry for you, but I feel even more sorry for the lot that was stuck looking after you these last few weeks."

Ash chortles. "Gale Hawthorne constantly looked like he wanted to rip my head off. Peeta Mellark's the one to pity, he got stuck cleaning me of my sick most of the time. Kid's too nice for his own good. That's the Mellark kid Emmy should've dated, she could've walked all over him." Abruptly, Ash's expression becomes crestfallen. "Mom and Dad. They told me about...about her and Ceddy…"

"I'm sorry," Finnick says quietly. "I miss them too."

The blond stares at the ceiling. "You knew them better than I did, these last few years," he mutters. "I was too drugged up to pay them any mind. I know how you looked out for them at the Capitol. Especially Emmy—motherfucking Capitol pedophiles."

Finnick smiles sadly. "Ember and Cedric were great kids. I wished they were my siblings."

"They actually were mine. And I never appreciated them, until it was too late." Ash shuts his eyes. "I did it for them. Everything these last few months, it was for them and Rain. Now they're dead, and who knows what they're doing to Rain in the Capitol. And Summer, she doesn't even know me." Now, Finnick knows, is not a good time to mention how often he's babysat the little girl. "I'm a failure. I failed as a big brother."

Finnick grips his friend's arm. "Look, Ash. You still have two sisters. It's not too late for them. Okay? It's not too late. This is what you're gonna do. You're going to get better, purge all those years of unholy self-medication. And once you're fit to be in society again, you're going to help the rebellion. You'll help rescue Rain. You'll get to know Summer. You'll make your parents proud. It is not too late, do you hear me?"

Ash's gray eyes are dull. "I think I'm gonna sleep now."

* * *

Maysilee should have known it was too good to be true. She has her son back. She has her niece. She has her friends. She has Ember's friends.

She should've known the high wouldn't last even an hour.

A Capitol remote-controlled drone was discovered in Thirteen's airspace. They captured it and found it was carrying a small package. The drone was inspected and found lacking of any explosives or other dangerous hardware, but it was destroyed as a precaution.

The package, on the other hand, registered on preliminary scans as containing a biological specimen. To be specific, a human body part. Or parts.

She and Haymitch are told all this, as the aforementioned package sits before them on a table. It has clearly already been opened, but the lid has been replaced, so they can't see its contents.

Plutarch wears a pained expression as he uncovers the box.

Haymitch curses violently, as Maysilee stares silently in horror, because she would recognize her daughter's beautiful, haunting gray eyes anywhere.

* * *

**Sorry.**

**Also, may I just say that I really enjoy seeing/reading about female friendships in fiction. I get a bit tired of seeing female rivalries all the time, often over romantic interests. So I personally find it important to portray female friendships in my writing.**

**So, with that being said, I hope you guys have been enjoying my interpretation of Glimmer.**

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**ONE-SHOT CONTEST! I should probably be spending my time studying and studying and more studying. But I can feel my creative juices for the story starting to trickle down, so I am counting on you, my beloved readers, to jumpstart my inspiration again before it's too late. Like with my previous contests, I will wait until just before I upload the next chapter to randomly select someone who has reviewed this chapter as the winner, and they can then give me a prompt about **_**almost**_** anything related to The Sweetest Mockery to write a one-shot about. (Someone's backstory, what-if-this-happened-instead AU, crossover with some other fandom, etc.) Rules about the prompt will be sent to the winner. You MUST be signed in to be in the lottery, and I have to be able to PM you.**

**There will be something slightly different about this lottery. It's been a while since my last one-shot contest because I've been so short on time these last few months, and all I could offer to reviewers besides responses were small previews of upcoming chapters. Even so, there have been readers whose names kept showing up in my inbox—some of them every chapter, some of them less frequently, but all of them cherished all the same—and their reviews kept me going with this story through all of my Real Life problems. So as a small thank you (kinda a poor excuse of a thank you, but the best I can do), people who have submitted reviews between now and the last one-shot contest will get a slight boost in the lottery. It will not be an overwhelming advantage, so people who haven't been able to review regularly will still get a fair shot at winning—just slightly better odds to reflect my appreciation for their support.**

**If you want to see examples of the fruits of past one-shot contests, take a look at some of my other stories: A Game Played Beautifully By Children, So Says the Fox, and Fire Beneath the Ashes.**

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**Thanks for reading! As usual, if you review within a week, you get a preview of the next chapter.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Oneshot contest results below!**

**Thank you very much to my reviewers Martapt, ForeverTeamEdward13, Cookiedoodles168, theotherpianist, Swimming Trees, FwuffyUnicorn, LunaWolfSunTigeress15, Randommmfanatic, vampluver19, breathing-sunflowers, dleshae, and my lovely guest reviewer.**

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Twenty-Three:

When the president offers to give you a ride, even if he doesn't mention where you're going or for what purpose, you don't say no. That is why Seneca finds himself sharing Snow's armored, bulletproof car as they cruise down the streets of the Capitol. The beginning of the car ride is spent in silence, as Snow presumably tries to unnerve Seneca. As for Seneca, he's trying to determine which of two possibilities is the reason Snow has mysteriously demanded his presence today.

The first is that Thirteen's plan to rescue Rain has been set in motion, and as expected, Seneca being with Snow is part of the plan.

The second is that Snow has discovered his treachery, and the rest of Seneca's life will be very short and very painful.

When Snow breaks the silence, Seneca gets his answer. "It seems, Seneca, that the rebels have finally realized that I never bluff."

"Bluff about what, sir?"

"Anything. In this specific case, the threats I dole out."

Snow never says anything without purpose. If he's bringing this up in front of Seneca, then it must have something to do with Rain. Seneca swallows, drawing upon all his acting ability to appear calm. Plutarch said Thirteen would do their part of the rescue as soon as possible, before Snow had a chance to hurt her. But it's been a while since Seneca was allowed to see Rain, and Capitol justice is swift. "Does this concern Rain, sir?" he asks, doing his best to sound mostly unaffected, and the smallest bit resentful. If their plan is to work, then as far as Snow knows, Seneca must be indifferent or antagonistic toward his "treacherous" fiancee. He is, however, still allowed to demonstrate concern for the mother of his unborn child.

"It does. The rebels were dragging their feet for too long regarding her fate, so I sent them something to catalyze their decision."

Terror freezes his body. "And what was that...something?" _Not our child, not our child, please._

"You shall see at the hospital. But let me just say, you may need to find a new muse for your artistry."

Seneca is almost afraid to analyze Snow's latter comment, so he focuses on the former. "Why are we going to the hospital, sir?" Seneca knows why—Plutarch told him what he needs to know to fulfill his part of the plan, but no more—but Snow must not realize he does.

They also weren't expecting Snow to be at the hospital. That complicates things.

"My gift to the rebels—to Miss Abernathy's parents, in particular—compelled them to respond to me at long last. They have agreed to proceed with negotiations to hand her over to them, provided that they are first assured of the health of Miss Abernathy and her child." _Not our child. It wasn't our child._ "My package, it appears, made them fearful of the condition of the rest of her body. So I have permitted Miss Abernathy to have a heavily guarded visit to the hospital, where she and the child will be evaluated to the rebels' satisfaction. The more hale they are, the better a price we can obtain for them. A hostage in almost mint condition is worth more than one near death."

This time, Seneca is unable to hide some of his true feelings. Normally, he is an exceedingly even-tempered man, much in control of his emotions. Lately, however, he feels like he's anything but in control, least of all right now, as Snow discusses Rain and their child like they're nothing more than bargaining chips.

Snow sees Seneca's displeasure. "Is something wrong, Seneca?" the president asks, the slightest hint of danger in his voice.

He thinks quickly. "Are you intending to give my child to the rebels, sir? By all means, return Rain to her parents if that is what is best, but I was hoping to keep my daughter."

"Ah, yes. Your child does count as a second hostage, does she not? Perhaps not in the eyes of the other rebellion leaders, but certainly to her would-be grandparents. If the rebels consent to surrender only the price of one hostage, then we shall retain Miss Abernathy in our care until your child is born, before we send the mother on her way. If, however, the rebels will pay for two, then I'm afraid both mother and child shall be sent away. You understand, Seneca, that despite whatever sanitized drivel we feed to the average Capitol citizen, we are at war. And we all must do our part in war. Your child may very well be a sacrifice you must make, for the sake of Panem. If that proves necessary, though, I shall endeavor to assist you in finding a more suitable partner with whom to continue the Crane line. I know you are a sentimental man—hence why I invited you today to attend whatever examinations they will perform on your child—but you shall see in time, Seneca, that it will be better for your future offspring to be unpolluted by the blood of district traitors, least of all the blood of Abernathys."

It would be so, so easy to just reach over and strangle the old man. "I appreciate your concern, sir."

At long last, they arrive at the hospital. It is both the Capitol's main hospital and the one nearest the facility Rain has been kept in, so it was a safe bet that this was where they would take her. Despite the heavy foot and vehicle traffic, their route is quickly cleared for the president.

"Well, off you go, Seneca," Snow tells him.

He looks at the president quizzically. "Are you not coming, sir?"

"I have more important things to attend to, Seneca. I shall have a cursory report sent to me later."

So Snow won't be in the hospital with the rest of them, after all. Good. "Thank you for the ride, sir."

The maternity ward is tucked deep in the hospital. The Peacekeepers positioned throughout the wing are a sign that Rain has already arrived. Seneca can do nothing about them; dealing with security is the other rebels' job. His role is to stay by Rain's side. Not a problem.

Seneca is directed to a door, flanked by two Peacekeepers, just like Rain's cell door at the facility. They recognize his face and allow him access. Within the room is a nurse busying herself with something on the counter, and Rain, in one of those ghastly hospital gowns and surprisingly unrestrained in any way. Before Seneca can wonder why they haven't seen fit to handcuff her, she turns slightly, and he sees the bandages wrapped around her head, covering her eyes.

He remembers Snow's comment about finding a new muse. _No. He didn't._ "Rain?" he calls softly.

She sits up straight and turns her face his way, slightly off. "Seneca, is that you?"

"Yes. I—" He pauses and glances at the nurse, who is deliberately paying them no attention. Seneca doesn't doubt that as soon as this is over, she'll be reporting everything she sees and hears to Snow. So his mask slips on. "The bandages are new."

Rain frowns, as she tries to decipher his true emotions. If she could see him, she would read him easily. But deprived of her eyesight—_he didn't, he couldn't have_—all she has is her hearing. "Courtesy of the president," she says bitterly, and Seneca can hear the sorrow and self-pity and anger in her voice.

"What happened?" he asks carefully, even though he doesn't think he wants to know the answer.

She ducks her head in shame (what does she have to be ashamed of?) and answers lowly, "My eyes or the baby. He told me to pick one, as a gift for my parents." Rain is trembling. "I couldn't let him take her. Never."

At first, Seneca feels cold, reeling from her vocal admission of something he knew, deep down, had happened, but that he'd refused to acknowledge until she confessed it. That icy darkness drowns him in selfish thoughts of how his countless doodles and sketches inspired by those fascinating gray irises will now cause him pain over what has been lost, how her affectionate gaze will no longer be the first thing he wakes up to in the morning, how he will never again look into her eyes and see the universe and all its possibilities within them.

It is when the selfless thoughts spill in, the thoughts of Rain, how she has been violently robbed of a part of her, how she will never see again, how she will never again read and draw and allow her creative soul to pour forth, that the coldness begins to burn in rage.

He should have strangled Snow when he had the chance.

If Rain could see his face now, she would know right away about his rising ire. But she can't. Snow stole that from her. So even with the bandage around her head, he can tell that she is confused and nervous about what his reaction will be, because _she can't see_ what's right before her_._

But the nurse is right there. Seneca cannot tell Rain what he truly thinks and feels, or all their plans will crumple. So he says tonelessly, "I can't deny that I'm glad you opted not to murder our daughter."

He can almost hear something breaking inside her. Shrinking back, she turns away from him and wraps her arms around her abdomen, making not a sound. Seneca is nearly overcome by the urge to hold her and apologize profusely for his words—for the cruelty he does not mean in the least—but he can practically see the nurse's ears pricking as she eavesdrop. So he does nothing except sit in the chair beside Rain's examination table, and they wait in fragile silence.

Seneca cannot recall ever being so harsh to her. They have undoubtedly fought in the past, and he has been plenty angry and upset at her before. There was the time he followed her trail into the seediest part of the Capitol, and their first real fight as a couple that devolved into slinging character-staining slurs at each other—and all too recently, when Seneca was sent to her cell and he confronted her about how she had lied to him. But not even at his most furious with Rain has he ever so intentionally constructed a verbal barb to strike her where it hurt most, as he did just now.

Of course Seneca doesn't believe that Rain would ever choose to kill their child. Of course he doesn't feel joy at the realization of what Snow has taken from her. Of course he doesn't hate her. But he's just insinuated that he does, and he feels sick to the stomach.

The doctor finally arrives, and after some cursory, professional greetings—Seneca appreciates that she doesn't acknowledge Rain's "traitor" status at all—she begins to ask Rain questions. They're all questions that Seneca is familiar with, because of the parent-to-be readings he'd done in past weeks so he would know what to expect over the course of the nine months. But that doesn't stop one question in particular from making his heart skip a beat.

"Can you feel your baby moving?"

Rain nods.

At their last checkup, before the Games, Rain said that she sometimes felt flutters in her stomach but nothing that could for sure be defined as movement. They were supposed to have gone back to their obstetrician before now, but the expectant mother being jailed is not conducive to attending doctor's appointments.

Seneca's hand twitches, aching to splay across Rain's protruding abdomen to at least feel the reassuring firmness of the life growing within, if not his daughter's perhaps premature kicks. But he restrains himself and just watches as the doctor wraps up with the questions then instructs Rain to undergo some standard measurements and tests. The nurse has to help a sightless Rain with simple tasks like stepping on the scale, and Seneca clenches his jaw as he observes, seething over how with a single abhorrent act, Snow has stripped Rain of her independence.

But she'll get it back somehow. Seneca knows she will. It's Rain.

He sits up straight when the doctor begins to take their baby's heartbeat. Seneca has heard it before at previous checkups, but it's no less awe-inspiring each time. He forgets himself and almost takes Rain's hand as the steady thrum of their daughter's heart peters out of the speaker, but he catches himself in time and retracts his arm. Seneca closes his eyes. In that heartbeat, he can hear happiness and beauty, every hope for the future he has ever had, and if he tries hard enough, its owner's knowledge that she is fiercely, unconditionally loved by the two people who created her. No aria, no concerto, no nocturne can compare to the music of this heartbeat, for it is a perfect rhythm not yet spoiled by the world. He commits the content beat to memory, where he can listen to it again and again, whenever in the future he will need a reminder of what he is fighting for.

The doctor finishes up the examinations, promises to have a report written up immediately, and departs, leaving the nurse to help Rain into her other clothes: standard issue prison garb, not much of an improvement over the hospital gown.

It's almost time.

When Rain is ready to leave, Seneca moves over and touches her arm. She is startled, not having heard him coming. "Seneca?" she asks, daring to let hope seep into her voice.

"I don't want you falling or getting into an accident and hurting our daughter," he says coolly, as the nurse eyes them with interest.

"Oh. Of course." Rain is crestfallen for a moment, but then she straightens her back and lifts her chin. "Thank you for the escort."

_You silly, extraordinary woman. It's not like I want to say these things._ But there's no way for Rain to know that. Seneca just hopes that he will have time to speak with Rain and clear the air between them.

One of the Peacekeepers outside the room looks at them questioningly when he spots Seneca supporting Rain. "I wish to accompany this group so I can ensure that the mother of my child reaches your transport vehicle without incident."

The Peacekeepers appear to find no issue with this, and soon he and Rain are flanked by the security detail as they exit the maternity ward. She grips his arm tighter than necessary, but Seneca doesn't complain. He tries not to get distracted by the fact that she's with him, that he's with her, focusing instead on staying alert.

Any moment now.

They arrive at a mostly-deserted parking garage. It's obvious which truck is the transport vehicle. Their group is still a distance away from it when, without warning, the truck explodes. Seneca grabs Rain to stop her from falling and to shield her from any debris. The Peacekeeper chief starts to bark orders at his men, but the explosion's perpetrators are swarming them already.

When the first gunshot rings out, Seneca pulls Rain with him to take cover behind the nearest car. Her face is white as they crouch on the ground. "Seneca, what's going on?"

"They've blown up your transportation."

"Who's 'they'?"

Seneca glances around the car to check on the fight. "Rebels."

The Peacekeepers weren't expecting an attack, not in the middle of the Capitol, not so soon after it seemed like District 13 was going to kowtow to the Capitol's demands. As a result, the rebels soon overpower the Peacekeepers, leaving most of the white-uniformed soldiers dead on the ground, but one or two still alive and bleeding.

One masked rebel finds Seneca and Rain. When he speaks, Seneca recognizes him as Messalla. "You're coming with us, Crane," Cressida's assistant says belligerently before manhandling him (Rain is much more gently treated) toward one of the rebels' escape vehicles, for the benefit of the wounded but living Peacekeepers twitching on the ground. Witnesses.

"Don't hurt him," Rain demands as they're packed into the van. Once the last rebel is herded inside a car, their little fleet takes off.

Messalla removes his mask. "Sorry about that, Mr. Crane. All part of the show."

"It's fine." Seneca then ignores everything and everyone else in the van, paying attention only to the bewildered woman across from him. "Rain, are you all right?"

"I'm okay, but I have no idea what's going on," she answers, and Seneca almost laughs as he hears her petulance over her ignorance.

"Well, my dear, since you kept me out of the loop of _your_ involvement with rebel activities, I thought it only fair to do the same regarding mine."

Rain reaches out. Knowing what it is she's looking for, Seneca gives it to her, taking her hands in his. "Seneca, I'm so sorry I lied to you. I trusted you, I _trust _you, I do, and there were so many times when I wanted to tell you what was going on, but I knew I couldn't be that selfish and share the burden with you if it meant putting you in danger. I couldn't let Snow punish you because of me, I couldn't let him have power over you like he did with everyone else I love. Please, Seneca, believe me, please, please—"

He shushes her. "I do. I do believe you. And I'm sorry, too, for how I've spoken to you. In your cell, I let my anger get the better of me, and at the hospital just now, I didn't want to say those things, but it was all part of the act. I couldn't be anything less than cold and indifferent in front of the doctor and the nurse."

She laughs as if she can't believe what she's hearing. "So you don't hate me?"

"No. Never. I could never hate you, and if you think I ever could, then you're not the clever, extraordinary woman I'm in love with."

Rain chokes back a sob and throws herself forward into his arms. And this time, Seneca is able to gladly hold her. He buries his face in her hair, limp and dull from the less-than-stellar living conditions of her cell these last few weeks, and just basks in her scent and presence and reassuring weight in his arms.

The bandage around her eyes rubs against his cheek, and anger flares in his heart again. "Snow won't get away what he did to you," he vows quietly.

She pulls back slightly. "There's no way I would have let him..._cut_ her out of me. I can live without my eyes, but not without her."

One of his hands drifts toward her belly. "I know, Rain. I know. But he shouldn't have forced you to choose at all." Seneca's fingers gently touch her face, not daring to venture too close to her sockets. "It was a needless cruelty. There was an infinite number of other ways he could have gotten his message across."

"Snow is Snow," Rain says flatly. "There's no changing him or his mind." Her hand clenches the front of his shirt. "I'll make him pay for it."

"I know you will." All the Abernathys will, Seneca is sure of it, if they are even half as determined and righteous as the woman he is holding.

"You still haven't told me what's going on right now."

So Seneca explains, "I met with Cinna, and together we contacted Cressida. That led us to a meeting with her, her assistant who's in this van with us, and…"

"And who?" Rain prods when he trails off.

"Cal," he mutters.

"Cal," she echoes. "As in…"

"Your ex-boyfriend Cal, yes."

"Oh." She's quiet for a minute. "That must have been an interesting meeting."

Seneca snorts. "That's one way to put it."

"Why did you reach out to Cressida?"

"I'd determined that the only way we could get you out of Snow's hands was with the rebellion's help. I didn't turn a completely deaf ear to your conversations with Cressida in the past, and Cinna agreed with me that she was our best chance to open a line of communication with District 13. Cressida wanted to meet us so she could assess if we were genuine or not, and when we passed her test, she brokered a conversation between Plutarch and me right then and there. I'm still mad at him for leaving you behind, by the way."

"I told him to. We realized there was no way for us to hack the arena remotely. One of us had to actually be in the Gamemaker Headquarters, where we could access the servers directly. And since Plutarch has always been one of the leaders of the underground ring of rebels in the Capitol, since he knew far too many things to risk allowing him to fall under Snow's thumb, it couldn't be him." She reaches up and caresses his face. "If it helps, he didn't know about the baby. We kept it a secret, remember? If he knew, I really think he would have offered to take my place. Not that I would have let him."

Seneca sighs. "Why must you rebels all be so damn noble? Why can't you be selfish like the rest of us?"

"You're not selfish, Seneca."

"Oh yes, I am. The only reason I'm throwing my lot in with them is you. You and our daughter."

Rain's brow furrows. "What exactly are you doing with the rebellion now, Seneca? How did you plan this escape? Where are we going?"

He runs his thumb across her forehead, smoothing out that wrinkle. "Plutarch told me that District 13 actually did have some ideas on how to get you out, but apparently they didn't see you as worth the trouble."

"From a military standpoint, I really don't have much more to offer to the rebellion," Rain points out quietly. "I served my purpose with the arena. I can't even do menial tasks like paperwork, since...you know."

"Politics. It's all politics," Seneca grouses. "That's the impression I got from Plutarch. But since they had a plan on their end, they orchestrated the escape today, not me or anyone else in the city. I was only told what I needed to know, such as being at the hospital for your checkup and making sure I stuck with you until the rebels took out your guards. Plutarch said Thirteen wasn't willing to send any hovercrafts or manpower for this mission, just technological assistance, so the plan relied almost entirely on the rebels already in the Capitol. Besides Cressida, Messalla, and Cal, I have no idea who else is involved, or what their specific roles were."

"And now? What now? Are we going into hiding somewhere?" she asks.

"Of sorts. District 13 conceded to devise an attack on the Capitol elsewhere, to divert their attention. We have a narrow window during which the Capitol rebels can fly a hovercraft out of the city with little to no attention from those who might stop them. That's where your ex makes himself useful, since he's a pilot. And I know Cinna, Portia, and Effie Trinket are waiting at the hangar with him." Seneca holds her closer. "We're going to get you out of here, Rain. We're going to get you to your parents. You and our daughter are going to be safe, where Snow can never touch you again."

But Rain isn't rejoicing. In fact, she looks a little stricken. "Seneca," she says slowly, "why do I feel like you're speaking as if you aren't coming with us?"

Seneca's mouth flattens into a grim line. "Because I'm not," he confesses.

"But why? Why aren't you?" Rain's voice rises with her anxiety. "You can't stay here, Seneca. Snow will kill you, now that he knows you've been working with the rebellion."

"He doesn't know. At least, we're counting on him not knowing. It's why I spoke to you so cruelly at the hospital, acted so distantly, and why Messalla treated me like the enemy in front of the Peacekeepers." Seneca clenches his jaw. "That was part of the deal with the rebels. Plutarch told me that the higher-ups in District 13 would only help us with getting you out if I stayed behind. The Head Gamemaker is an optimal spy, it seems. They're banking on Snow keeping me around so I can feed them all sorts of confidential information."

"But what if Snow doesn't believe the act? What if he realizes the truth? Or what if he doesn't today, but later he discovers that you've been spying on him? He'll kill you, Seneca. They can't ask you to do this."

"If it's the price I have to pay to ensure you and our daughter are safe, then I will gladly pay it." Seneca presses his forehead to Rain's. "I've thought a lot about what you said during our conversation in your cell, about how I don't understand because I have less family than you, fewer people I care for."

"Seneca, I didn't mean—"

"Rain, let me talk," he says gently. "I thought about how you gave up everything, risked everything, including your life, for the sake of your family. And as I thought about that, I realized—I _knew_—that I would do no less for mine. You and our daughter, Rain. The two of you are all I have in the world. And if there's anything I can do to ensure that not a single hair on either of your heads is touched, then I'll do it, even if it involves lying to Snow's face and risking his wrath."

She shakes her head. "No. No. No, Seneca, I won't let you do this. I don't care what Thirteen says, you're coming on that hovercraft with me."

"Rain, I can't."

"Who knows how long this war will be? If you stay here, you'll—you'll—you'll miss her birth."

Seneca feels a pang at that. Ever since Rain had told him that she was pregnant, he'd been imagining the day their child would come into the world, wailing healthily at the top of her lungs after hours and hours of labor, during which Seneca never left Rain's side, not for a moment. He'd imagined how he would hold his daughter for the first time, unbelievably tiny and fragile and helpless, wholly dependent on him and Rain for her happiness and well-being. He'd imagined the first time Rain would nurse her, full of adoration for the squirming, greedy creature at her breast, for whom she had undergone so much pain, and it would be a scene of such blissful beauty that Seneca would feel compelled to try to capture it in every artist's medium known to man, with varying degrees of success.

He will miss all that. And most likely, much more than just his daughter's first day of life. A spy in wartime does not have a long life expectancy. _If you are discovered, Thirteen cannot help you,_ Plutarch warned. "I know." A gesture from Messalla tells him that they're nearing their destination, and he's running out of time. "Rain. Listen to me. This is important." Seneca takes her hands. "You're going to be a wonderful mother."

"Seneca, please don't talk this way."

"I know that with you to take care of her, our daughter will never worry about anything," he continues. "She will have a great childhood, and she will grow up spoiled by her grandparents and Cinna and Portia and all the people who will love her. You're going to raise her to be just as amazing a woman as you, smart and fierce and independent and kind."

The bandages around Rain's eyes are growing wet. "Please. Seneca, please…"

"It's you I'm worried about," he says softly. "You must promise me, Rain, that whatever happens, you will be happy."

She's shaking her head frantically, silently mouthing words he cannot hear.

"Ideally, I'll be there to make you happy and raise our daughter alongside you." Seneca allows himself a hopeless smile at that distant dream. "But if the worst should happen, don't grieve forever. You can't allow yourself to remain stuck in the past. If it will make you happy, then don't feel guilty to move on. Find someone else who will realize how lucky he is to receive your love, as I have been these last few years. Someone who deserves you, who will treat you right, who will wake up every morning thanking his lucky stars that you ever looked his way. Just like I do."

"You're not going to die, Seneca. You're not."

"I promise I'll do my best." _But war is a tricky beast._ "But you must promise you'll try to be happy, no matter what."

Rain brings up her hand to cover her mouth. "Seneca, how...how can you…"

"Rain, please. I'll never be at ease if you don't promise. Promise me."

Her entire body shakes, and he thinks at first that she'll refuse. But at last, she whispers, "I promise."

The van screeches to a halt, and its occupants hurriedly file out into the hangar they've pulled into, along with the other cars that made their escape from the hospital. Messalla looks at them. "Mr. Crane, we're running out of time. We have to finish your part of the plan."

Reflexively, Seneca's grip tightens on Rain. If this is the last time he may ever see her, then he's going to make the most of it. "I want to see her onto the hovercraft."

Messalla frowns. "It'll have to be fast," he warns, not unkindly.

Seneca nods, and without wasting any more time, he guides Rain toward the waiting hovercraft. Already inside are Cinna, Portia, and Effie. Although their faces light up at the sight of Rain, they sense that this is a moment they must allow her and Seneca to have alone, so they hang back.

He helps Rain into one of the seats. Then Seneca kneels, touches her abdomen, and gently kisses the precious bump. His mind races with things he could say to his unborn child, who will in all likelihood not even hear his words, let alone remember them. _I love you. Your mother will tell you about me. Please be a better person than I ever was._ What ends up coming past his lips is this: "I hope you have your mother's eyes."

Rain's eyes. Rain's intelligence. Rain's beauty. Rain's persistence. Rain's heart. He just wants his daughter to inherit as many of her mother's traits as possible.

Seneca raises himself so he's face-to-face with Rain. "There's one last thing I need to give you." He takes her left hand, and he reaches into his pocket.

She recognizes the feel of his mother's ring as he slides it back onto her finger, where it belongs. "Snow took it from me. I thought I'd lost it forever."

"He was kind enough to return it to me. But I've simply been holding onto it for its rightful bearer." Seneca kisses her hand, where the ring rests.

The tears seep past her bandages and onto her cheeks. "I've been Lorraine Abernathy for my entire life. But for you, only you, I would've willingly taken another name. I would have been so, so happy to be Mrs. Seneca Crane."

Seneca covers up his wistful regret with a wry comment. "I don't know about that, I think you would have gotten tired of being 'Rain Crane' fairly quickly."

Rain laughs wetly. "Oh God, that is an unfortunate combination, isn't it?"

Messalla is gesturing urgently. They're out of time. Seneca gently places his finger beneath Rain's chin and leans down to tenderly kiss her. She presses her mouth against his, desperate to cling onto him for as long as she can.

"Mr. Crane, we have to go, _now._"

"I love you," Seneca murmurs against her lips, and then he forces himself away. The last thing he does before turning his back on Rain is to buckle her seatbelt.

He stands with Messalla and one other rebel in the hangar, the last two still outside the hovercraft. "The Peacekeepers are almost here, right on schedule," Messalla tells him. "Are you ready?"

"I have to be," Seneca answers, not looking forward to the next step at all.

"Quirinus here is a pro with non-lethal gunshots. It's going to hurt somewhat, and it'll look serious, but you shouldn't die."

_Shouldn't._ How comforting. Seneca just has to hope that he won't bleed out before the Peacekeepers arrive—and that the Peacekeepers won't let him bleed out when they do get here. "Let's get it over with."

Seneca is glad that this Quirinus fellow doesn't make a fuss before he shoots. Quirinus just lifts his handgun, carefully aims, and fires.

_Fuck!_ Seneca crumples to the ground. Hurt "somewhat"? That's an understatement if he's ever heard one. The pain at last subsides enough for him to try staunching the wound, just in time for him to see the hovercraft lift up and take off. _Goodbye, Rain._

Agony from the gunshot blossoms again, and black spots dance in his vision as a troop of Peacekeepers storms into the hangar, too late.

"That's Mr. Crane," he hears someone say as he blacks out.

"We have the president's orders…"

Seneca doesn't dream. The next thing he knows, he is waking up in a white, sterile room. As he blearily regains his bearings, he recognizes it as a hospital room. He twitches his wrists and his ankles—no restraints. Not arrested, then. He has no time to think of anything else before a nurse realizes he's awoken and increases his morphling, knocking him out again.

The next time he wakes, Snow is there. The president gazes at him with a pitying, knowing, condescending expression. "The marvelous doctors have fixed you up, good as new."

Seneca, who is still not cuffed in any way, reaches for his abdomen. Not even a scar, as expected of Capitol surgeons.

"The rebels took you hostage and left you for dead in the hangar, once they realized they were able to get away. The Peacekeepers found you just in time." Snow shakes his head. "Do you see now where relationships get you? They take you to all the wrong places."

If Seneca had no sense of self-preservation, he would laugh in the old man's face. Instead, he says humbly, pseudo-brokenly, falsely angrily, "You're right, sir. Being with Rain has brought me nothing but trouble."

The president's satisfied expression at the admission offers Seneca the cold comfort that Snow has fallen for the rebels' act perfectly. Well, that's a good sign Seneca won't be killed on the president's orders. Not today, at least.

* * *

**And the winner of the oneshot contest is ForeverTeamEdward13! Hopefully I won't take too long writing it, so stay tuned, everyone.**

**Also, is there by any chance anyone else out there who is a fan of Boys Over Flowers (the Korean drama) or Skip Beat! (the manga)? I might be just a little extremely obsessed with them both simultaneously at the moment. Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?**

**As always, review within a week of this update to get a preview of the next chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Thank you very much to my reviewers ForeverTeamEdward13, theotherpianist, Martapt, jafcbutterfly, vampluver19, Mely-the-Mockingjay, Kperry1234, breathing-sunflowers, Randommmfanatic, LectriceDeChoc, and Swimming Trees.**

**Desiree Edwards: Thank you! And yes, Boys Over Flowers is amazing. I've only recently begun the downward spiral into KDramas, but I am currently of the opinion that if you can only ever watch one KDrama, that's the one.**

**Regarding this chapter: my inner (and outer, let's be honest) Classics nerd couldn't resist dropping a few Roman Easter eggs here and there. Thank you, Suzanne Collins, for basing so much of the Capitol on the Eternal City. ^_^ I provided a recap at the end for anyone curious.**

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Twenty-Four:

"Here, darling." Cressida carefully places a thermos in Rain's hands. "Some hot water, as requested."

"Thanks."

Cressida squeezes her shoulder before departing. Rain's friendship with the director has never been particularly intimate, and that suits Rain just fine. Sometimes you need someone who doesn't want or need to know about all of your problems but who will be supportive and sympathetic anyway.

Carefully, Rain raises the thermos to her lips and slowly sips. After Snow's operation, she only had two (barely touched) meals in her cell before being taken to the hospital, so eating and drinking in her new sightless state is still a novelty. But her blindness isn't going to go away, so she'll have to get used to it.

A sudden thought causes her to startle, spilling some hot water on herself. At her hiss, Cinna, who's sitting beside her, asks, "Are you okay, Rain?"

"Fine, fine. Just clumsy."

"Do you want some help?"

She waves him off. "It's just water. But thank you."

Rain can feel Cinna studying her. "You don't seem okay," he says softly.

Her best friend's patient understanding, even when he doesn't know what's going on in her head, makes Rain admit what's bothering her. "I realized...I'm never going to see my baby." She won't be able to see for herself if her daughter is blond or black, to see the precise hue of her little tufts of hair. She won't be able to see where on the spectrum between blue and gray her irises fall. She won't be able to look at her face and see if her baby has inherited the slight upturn of her nose or Seneca's beautiful _real_ smile, if her baby has gotten the petulant arch of her own mother's eyebrows or her father's stubborn chin, if her baby shares Cedric's thick eyelashes or the spark of mischief in Ember's eyes.

All that. Gone.

"Oh, Rain." Cinna reaches over and takes her hand. "I am so sorry about what's happened."

Rain sighs quietly. "I would be able to handle it better if Seneca were here." But he isn't. She has no idea where he is right now. Did Snow buy the rebels' plan? Is Seneca still in the president's good graces? Or has Snow declared him a traitor, just like her? Is Seneca even alive?

First Ember and Cedric, then her eyes, now Seneca. She feels as if she's done nothing but lose everyone and everything since she wrecked the arena. Perhaps it would have been better if she never tampered with the Games and let things happen as planned.*

No. No, no use wondering about the what ifs. Rain chose her course of action after much thought and deliberation. She made the right decision.

"Seneca is just as good a liar and actor as you. And from what he's told me, Snow seems to look at him like some kind of indulged pet," Cinna tells her. "If anyone can deceive Snow, it's that man of yours."

She fiddles with the ring that Seneca has given her for the second time. "But if Snow finds him out, then he'll be punished all the worse."

"Perhaps," Cinna agrees. "But Rain, you know that Seneca _wants_ to come back to you and your child. He's going to do what he can to make that happen. He'll play it smart and safe, you know he will. Trust him."

"I do. It's Snow I don't trust."

"Rain?" Portia's voice distracts her. "I brought you something to eat."

Rain graciously accepts her friend's offering and nibbles on mixed nuts and dried fruit. She has little desire to eat, but her moroseness comes second to her baby's needs.

"Lorraine, dear, how is the baby doing?"

She looks in the direction of Effie's voice. "The doctor didn't seem to think there was anything wrong. And I feel fine, more or less."

Rain hears Effie commanding Cinna to move, which he does with good humor, and the escort takes his vacated seat beside Rain. "I've never had children, but if there is anything I can do, let me know. I was around when your mother was pregnant with your youngest sister, _and_ your younger brother."

Ah, Effie. Rain has seen enough of the escort to know that she and Mom have a strange sort of friendship, one often fraught with misunderstandings and petty disagreements, but genuine nonetheless. Rain supposes a great part of it has something to do with Effie much preferring to deal with Mom rather than Dad. Effie has always looked fondly upon Rain and her siblings—Ashton less so in recent years—and Rain especially, with her "wonderful manners," as Effie likes to rave about, seems to be her particular favorite. "I appreciate it, Effie. Thank you."

"Oh, you always really have had such wonderful manners, Lorraine."

Rain suppresses a small smirk.

Effie then clucks over the state of Rain's hair and, after locating a comb, proceeds to brush her locks. Usually, Rain is uncomfortable with people she's not especially close to touching her, but Effie has always been like a kooky sort of aunt—a distant, rarely seen aunt, but nevertheless. And she's been so isolated from people the last few weeks in that little cell, she feels rather starved for human contact and touch.

When Effie is done, she departs to her original seat in order to nap. Cinna returns to Rain's side. "Seneca wanted me to make sure I gave you this." He places something on her lap.

Rain feels the edges of the flat, rectangular object. Her heart skips a beat as she thinks she recognizes it. "Is this my book? The one I made for the baby?"

"Was that book called _Who Loves Me?_"

She nods fervently, opening the book even though she can no longer read it or look at the pictures. No matter. She made the thing, everything's already in her head. "You said Seneca gave you this?"

"All I know is that he had it before he gave it to me."

So Seneca must have gone into the nursery and seen the book on the little shelf. Rain feels a pang of sadness—she liked that nursery, incomplete though it was. And now her daughter will never sleep in that carefully decorated room. Holding in a sigh, Rain slowly pages through the book, keeping count of the sheets so she can follow along with the words and images in her mind. She reaches what was supposed to be the last page, only to realize there's an extra sheet.

That's new. "Cinna, can you tell me what's on this page?"

Cinna leans over to see. "The paper looks different than the rest of the pages. The main thing on it is a picture—black and white, I think it's pen and ink—and...I believe it shows you and Seneca holding a baby. There are some handwritten lines at the top. 'Daddy also loves Mommy, because she is the most beautiful, cleverest, bravest woman he knows. He always thinks about her and me, because we are the greatest loves of his life, and he will always look out for us.'"

It's too much for Rain to handle. Ugly sobs wrench out of her chest as her bandages grow soaked with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm—it's the hormones, I can't—"

Cinna gently shushes her as he dabs at her face with a tissue. "Don't apologize, Rain. It's fine for you to be upset right now. I would be surprised if you weren't."

Rain hiccups quietly. "He really… He really doesn't think he's coming back to us."

There is nothing Cinna can say to assure her on that count. All he can do is rub her back comfortingly as she wraps her arms around her belly and cries. Eventually, Rain is able to sufficiently clear her mind in order to fall asleep, which she does for most of the remaining hovercraft ride.

She is woken by Cinna. "We're almost there."

Rain should feel exuberant, relieved, that they've finally arrived at District 13. But all she feels is exhaustion and sadness. As much as she adores Cinna, she feels like it ought to be someone else sitting beside her. Once they land, Cinna helps her up and walks her off of the hovercraft, into what is presumably a hangar. She is thrown off by the unknown location, by the loud noise and the confusing echoes, and she clings to her friend's arm, having no idea where they're going.

Then she hears it, amongst all the other voices.

"Rain!"

Her heart skips a beat. "Mom?" she calls out desperately.

There are hurried footsteps, the sound of Dad barking at somebody to move. Cinna lets go of Rain just as familiar arms wrap tightly around her, Mom's gentle floral scent and Dad's gruff reassurances. After so much sobbing, Rain thought she was out of tears, but that turns out to be a false assumption because she's weeping all over again.

"It's okay, it's okay," Mom soothes, as if Rain were a child again. "We're here, Rain. You're safe. It's okay."

* * *

Ashton lands on his ass for the third time that day. "Dammit!"

Finnick shoots him a cocky smirk, switching his trident from one hand to the other. "What did you expect, Abernathy? You've been pitifully out of shape for the better part of a decade. Of course I'm gonna hand your ass to you."

"Just you wait, Odair. I'll make you eat those words," Ashton grumbles as he picks himself up.

"Considering how your old man put up a better fight than you, I won't hold my breath."

It's unfortunate that Emmy's friends are all watching right now, because all of the retaliations that come to Ashton's mind are far too inappropriate for him to utter in front of his little sister's friends. He still remembers them as bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked children, and even though they're not nearly so little anymore, it still feels wrong to cuss out Finnick in their presence as he would without an audience.

Ashton moves off to the sidelines, steadily regaining his breath. He really is out of shape; being constantly buzzed over the last few years has not been conducive to his fitness. But he began trying to fix that as soon as he was allowed out of the hospital unit. One reason was that he might be needed in the field at some point during this war, and he neither wants to embarrass nor endanger himself if that's the case. Another is that...well, like Finnick said, his own middle-aged father is in better shape than him. Ash wants to do better.

He wants to _be_ better.

"Ash?"

He looks up, water bottle halfway to his mouth. "Hey, Madgie." For a moment, his heart twists as he looks at his cousin, who looks so, so much like his little sister. Ashton tries to focus on her blond hair instead, the most distinguishing feature between her and Ember. "Are you gonna practice with your friends?" he asks, jerking his head toward the training area. Now that he and Finnick have finished sparring, Katniss and Gale are practicing their archery—especially with the newfangled crossbows that Beetee has been making—while Peeta lifts weights.

Madge shakes her head, smiling wryly. "I'd be more likely to hurt myself than anyone. I'm probably not going to be on the front lines in this rebellion."

Ash can't help chuckling. He remembers all too well how, during their childhood, Madge struggled to keep up with the rest of them as they ran through the woods and climbed up the trees. It seems that hasn't changed in the last decade. But maybe that's a good thing. It means, like Madge herself said, that no one in their right mind will think to put her in the vanguard. And that means she'll be safe.

Much safer than Ember and Cedric were.

"Ash?" Madge repeats.

"Yes, Madgie?"

"I realized that I never thanked you for getting us out of District 12. So...thank you."

Ashton manages a small smile. "You're welcome, Madgie." With a pang, he remembers that he didn't manage to get _everyone_ out. No one knows what happened to Aunt Marj and Uncle Basil, to Madge's parents. _I should've tried harder._

"And Ash? I'm glad to see you're doing better." She twists her hands. "I know Ember would be, too."

He shuts his eyes. "I appreciate that, Madgie. Thanks."

Then Madge is called away to do some body strengthening exercises. As she parts from him, Ashton's gaze falls upon the archery station, where Katniss and Gale have taken to the crossbows like wee ducklings to water. A hazy memory of his Games, Careers hogging the shooting range at their Training Center, flashes to mind. Ashton hastily shakes away thoughts of the long-dead children and casts one last wistful look at the longbows before exiting the room. Archery makes him think of Ceddy, and thinking of Ceddy hurts his blackened heart too much.

"Hey, Cinderella!" a familiar abrasive voice shouts.

Ashton sighs, a little fondly, and turns. "The hell you want, Bananas?"

"Some damn respect would be nice for starters, Princess." Johanna Mason struts up and jabs her finger against his chest, none too gently. "That's no way to talk to the bearer of good news."

"You mean Thirteen has finally decided to kick you out?"

When Johanna doesn't retort with another insult, only looks at him seriously, Ashton realizes she means business. She wastes no time answering, "Your twin has arrived."

Ash inhales sharply. "Rain? Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's fine, so I've been told, but they're checking up on her and the little bun in the oven in the hospital—" Johanna fails to finish before he takes off at a sprint.

He's out of breath when he reaches the hospital wing. He skids to a halt before the receptionist. "Rain—" _pant_ "—Abernathy—" _pant_ "—where?" Geezus, he's out of shape.

"No running in the hospital. Room Ten."

Ashton power-walks to his destination. A doctor exits the room just as he arrives, nodding politely at the Victor as they pass each other. Ash cracks the door open and peeks inside. Mom and Dad are sitting on either side of the bed, where Rain is reclining. Fresh white bandages are wrapped around her head, and the sight—or lack thereof—of her eyes is like a cold knife slicing through Ashton's soul. His parents told him soon after they'd found out about Snow's "present" for them. Ash, who had himself been a hospital patient at the time, almost irrevocably damaged some pricy medical equipment.

_I'll kill him! I'll kill that son of a bitch!_

Now the reality of it is before him, and Ash feels that simultaneously freezing and burning rage once more. _He will die slowly._

Dad notices him first, and he murmurs to Rain, "Your brother's here."

"Ash?" Rain's voice sounds so hopeful, so pleased, that it washes away the majority of Ashton's wrath, leaving behind only simmering ire.

"Hey, Rainie." Ash moves forward, his footsteps intentionally louder than usual. She extends her arms in the direction of his voice, and he carefully embraces her, as if she were one of those porcelain dolls that people always gave her when they were little and that always ended up gathering dust in the corner.

Mom and Dad quietly leave. Ashton pulls back and takes a closer look at his twin. Rain has recently bathed, but the soap and hot water have failed to erase her paleness and slightly sunken cheeks. If her eyes weren't bandaged, Ashton bets he'd see heavy, dark circles beneath them.

After a brief silence, he finally says, "So I heard you got knocked up."

Rain huffs in annoyance and slaps his arm. "_That's_ how you greet me, _Rash_ton?"

"What, it's true, isn't it, _No-Brain?_" He chuckles at the indignant expression on her face, then grows serious. "How's Junior doing?"

Rain sighs quietly and rubs her swelling belly. "The doctors say she's perfectly fine. It's amazing, isn't it, how she came through everything without—without even a scratch…" Her mouth twists.

"Oh, no," Ash murmurs. "Don't cry, Rainie. I hate it when you do."

"I won't," she assures him shakily. "I've cried enough today."

Ashton exhales as his hands tighten around Rain's. _Snow will die._ "You're not telling me that you were sad to leave that cesspit of a Capitol?" he asks half-teasingly.

"I had to leave Seneca behind."

He has never met his twin's mentor-turned-boyfriend-turned-fiance-turned-baby daddy. They've come close to an encounter before, but never have they shaken hands nor so much as nodded curtly to each other in acknowledgement. Ashton supposes Seneca simply has no desire to meet the embarrassment of Rain's family. As for himself, he always makes it a point to drink or shoot himself up to oblivion whenever he has to visit the Capitol, so he's usually in no state to meet new people. Ashton _has_ seen Seneca Crane on television, since he became Head Gamemaker, and the bearded Capitolite seems like a consummate schmoozer, just telling people what they want to hear. But Ashton knows all too well that TV and real life can be worlds apart.

Whoever the real Seneca Crane is, Ashton has hoped that his concerns have been for nothing and that the Gamemaker is good for his twin. And he trusts Rain enough that if she cried over leaving the father of her child behind in the Capitol, then that must indeed be the case.

"Why did you leave him behind?" he asks. "I don't know anything, Rain. Not why they finally got you out, now how they did it…"

Her shoulders sag. "Seneca made a deal with Thirteen. They would help—a little—in breaking me out, and he would stay to spy on Snow."

"What? That's a suicide mission," Ashton blurts out without thinking.

"I _know,_ Ash. That's a huge part of why I cried." Rain leans back against her pillows, rubbing her forehead. "I would let Snow take my eyes a hundred times if I could have Seneca safe here with me."

Rain is not melodramatic—well, she _can_ be if it suits her purposes, like that time her crocodile tears got him in trouble when he in no way on purpose ruined her crayon drawing all those years ago. Anyway, usually if she says something, she means it. "He's really worth that much to you?"

"You've never been in love, have you, Ash?"

"I have. Her name is Tequila." He grins as Rain slaps his arm again, but the grin soon fades. "No. I don't think I even can anymore."

"Ash…"

"I still love you. I still love—loved—Emmy and Ceddy. I still love Summer, even though I've almost never seen her sober before Thirteen. I still love Mom and Dad. I still love Madgie. But after my Games...well, everything went to hell, didn't it? Except for Summer, I've been unable to love anything or anyone else since then. I just...lost the ability, I suppose. So I guess I just don't understand how you can value someone who isn't family so highly."

Rain's hand reaches out, pats his face uncertainly, then strokes his hair. "Poor Ash," she whispers. "I often wonder what if I'd been in there with you—"

"Then one of us would be dead. It's better this way. I don't think I would've survived seeing you die, and I wouldn't want you to have watched my death." Annie Cresta almost didn't pull through, and her district partner wasn't even related to her, let alone her twin.

"Seeing you slowly killing yourself over the last ten years hasn't been easy either."

Ashton winces. Mom and Dad were the ones who most frequently had to endure his...intemperance. But Rain suffered from it, too. A lot of people did. A memory of his first almost-encounter with Seneca Crane threatens to resurface, but Ashton manages to squash it prematurely, before the guilt can overwhelm him. "No more of that, Rainie. I promise. I have to be in top shape to be in this war."

She gasps. "Don't tell me you're going into battle!"  
"I'll do whatever is needed of me. It's time I fulfilled my share of this revolution. If it's on the front lines, the so be it, and I have to be ready."

Rain pouts unconsciously. "I can't talk you out of this?"

"No way, No-Brain."

"You'll have to be careful, then. No goddamn heroics. I would like for Priscilla to grow up knowing her Uncle Ash."

She picked the name Priscilla? Very Capitol, but then, the little bean sprout _is _half-Capitol. Alas, you can't pick your parents. "So when is Cillie's birthday supposed to be?"

"November, and you are _not_ calling my daughter Silly."

"I meant C-I-L-L-I-E, but now that I think about it, I rather like Silly."

"Rashton, _no._"

Later that day, Ashton returns to the training facilities. His feet bear him to the archery station, and his fingers run along the curve of one of Beetee's newly designed longbows. In his mind's eye, the black fiberglass becomes warm wood, the steel walls and padded floors become forest, he's eight years old again, and Mr. Everdeen, one of Dad's best friends, is alive and patiently teaching him how to shoot. The scene shifts, and suddenly Ash is the teacher, and a very small Ceddy is struggling with his child-sized bow. _Relax, Ceddy. You can't possibly shoot well if you're so stiff… Nah, don't tell Mom and Dad. Not Emmy, either. This'll be our secret, yeah? If anyone asks, you're just a natural at archery._ And the thing is, Ceddy really was a natural. Just not as perfect of a prodigy as everyone thought he was, on his supposed "first" time. But Ash was content to let them think that.

The archery lessons stopped when the alcohol and drugs started making Ashton's hands shake so much, he could no longer shoot straight. But Ash's hands aren't shaking anymore. He picks up the bow and a quiver of arrows then selects one dummy in the distance. He imagines it as Snow, with his crisp suits and nauseatingly sweet roses. Clenching his jaw, Ashton nocks an arrow, and he aims for the eyes.

* * *

Even as the Cranes' fortunes declined over the last few generations, Seneca's forefathers clung to the family tomb. Many a debt could've been paid by selling the crypt in a city where space—even space for the dead—is always a hot commodity, but a stubborn adherence to tradition ensured that past and future Cranes could always rest in the same place.

Seneca now finds himself grateful that his father refused to sell, as he shuts the iron gate behind him. He rests his flashlight on the sarcophagus of one Annaeus Crane so that it illuminates the wall holding the ashes of dozens of his ancestors. Some are more recent than others.

_Priscilla Willow Crane._ Seneca's fingertips trace the outline of his mother's name as he musters the nerve to do what he's about to do. It feels like he's about to desecrate the dead—honestly, it probably _is _considered desecration by most people—but although his mother never gave any sign of rebel inclinations whatsoever, he suspects she wouldn't mind his intentions. After all, he isn't doing this for the rebellion, per se, but for Rain. And Mother always did like Rain.

Seneca easily opens the cubbyhole, revealing the simple urn holding his mother's ashes. Carefully, reverently, he eases out the vase and sets it on top of Old Annaeus. Then he reaches into his inner pocket, removes the small communicator that Cressida left for him to use to contact Thirteen, and sets it beside the urn. At last, no longer able to stall, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. _I'm sorry, Mother._ Bracing himself, he unlatches and removes the urn's lid. Seneca gently deposits the communicator, which is in a small sealed pouch, inside the container, and, trying not to feel too nauseous, he disturbs the ashes so they cover the baggie. Because of Capitolites' tendency to splurge on funerals, the urn is made of material that would protect the ashes within even in the case of a nuclear attack—and the same material, coincidentally, would inhibit any devices sweeping the tomb for electronics from detecting the communicator. Seneca can't risk keeping it on his person or in his apartment, either of which could be searched at any given moment. So he must hope that, as he's been regularly visiting his mother ever since she died, no one will suspect anything about the family tomb. He seals the lid again and replaces Mother in her rightful place, where she will help protect him and his secrets, even in death. Then he retrieves his flashlight, vacates the tomb, and locks the gate behind him.

He feels uncomfortably alone as he walks out of the cemetery. Usually Rain accompanies him on these little pilgrimages: stands with him in a moment of silence, helps him sometimes dust off the coffins and sweep the stone floor. But Seneca doesn't wish she were here with him right now. She's much better off where she is currently, in Thirteen.

A car pulls up just as he exits the cemetery. Seneca looks at it placidly, although inwardly he's tense. If this is Snow offering another spontaneous ride, this time Seneca might not end up so lucky at the end. Or alive.

The tinted window rolls down, and Seneca almost wishes it were Snow instead.

"Hello, darling."

Seneca _just_ manages to smile politely at his ex. "Hello, Drusilla."

His ex is as stunningly beautiful as ever, though now she's chosen to sport violet eyes and silver-blond hair, and she's done something to make the tips of her ears end in a point. She presses one hand, long nails painted blood red, against her collarbone. "I heard about your recent awful, awful luck, Sen. I'm so sorry about everything you've gone through. Won't you join me and talk it out with an old friend?"

What Seneca once took for cultivated, prideful elegance, he now sees as carefully crafted deceit. And he knows that _she_ knows that he isn't as gullible as he was when they were dating. "Don't you think we parted ways a little too bitterly to call ourselves friends?"

"Perhaps at first. But I've been keeping tabs on you these last few years, Sen. You've done very well for yourself, and I'm quite proud. I kept my distance, but I can't do so anymore. Everything you've endured with that Abernathy girl, a crying shame, I tell you. I simply had to come to offer you a sympathetic ear. What do you say, Sen?"

For starters, Seneca knows that Drusilla Rosebrook did not come to him solely of her own accord. She's far too cunning to throw herself at him in the blind hopes that he would take her back. No, someone must have convinced her to approach him. Someone with enough inside information—even more than Drusilla, one of the executives of Panem's top news station—to expect Seneca to be emotionally vulnerable, less guarded against her than he would be without recent relationship trauma. Someone who would want Drusilla to coax information out of him. Someone with the means to satisfy Drusilla's expensive tastes as compensation.

Snow. Of course.

Seneca gazes at Drusilla, sympathy expertly painting her face as her eyes gleam with expectation. He thinks about the old tyrant, probably sipping wine in his fancy office, expecting Seneca to fall over himself to cry out his woes to Drusilla. He thinks about how Drusilla, as an executive of Panem Broadcasting Channel, would certainly have more information than the public, in order that she be able to better influence the public's mindset. He thinks about how she and Snow both probably think of him as a sentimental fool, pliable and uncomplaining in the wake of his supposed gaffes. He thinks about how he's doing his best, against impossible odds, to come out of this war alive so he can see his family again, and all things considered, he'd rather take on Drusilla than Snow.

His face is awash with anguish, and his voice is strained as he speaks. "It's been terrible, Drusilla."

He spots the flicker of triumph in Drusilla's eyes before she reaches over to open the door for him. _Always so sure of yourself, darling._ And he climbs into the snakepit.

* * *

"Advisor Abernathy, Advisor Donner. We're glad that you could finally join us."

Maysilee stares hard at Coin until the other woman's condescension fades into apathy. _You say that as if you weren't the one blocking us out of meetings._ But now that Rain is secure in Thirteen, Coin no longer has any excuse to continue to exclude her and Haymitch.

No introductions are made. Maysilee and her husband already know everyone of consequence in the room. Coin simply starts the meeting. "As you all know by now, we have evacuated Lorraine Abernathy from the Capitol, along with most of our operatives in the city."

_We?_ Oh yes, because it was all Coin's idea. It wasn't like the president was firmly against _wasting resources _on rescuing _an asset who no longer has value._

"How is Miss Abernathy?" asks Boggs, one of the few decent folks in Coin's inner circle.

Coin looks at Maysilee and Haymitch expectantly. "Her health and her child's health are stable," Maysilee answers. "But I'm sure you all know that she is now blind, thanks to Snow."

Someone else queries, "So why did we clear out valuable, potential moles from the Capitol for a now blind Gamemaker?"

Haymitch's hand twitches on his armrest. Maysilee rests her hand on top of his. "Our daughter may be blind, but she can probably contribute more to the cause than most who are fully able," she answers coolly. "She's already helped the tributes escape from the arena."

"Who are now dead."

"Yes, thank you for reminding us," Haymitch says flatly.

Maysilee squeezes his hand. _Behave,_ she silently warns him, even as she struggles to force away images of her dead daughter and son. "If they had lived, they would have been invaluable, as symbols for the revolution or otherwise." _And I would have all of my children, not just three._ "Unfortunately, we were inhibited from retrieving the twenty-four children before they were killed." Some of those whom Maysilee remembers as being those who argued against sending out a hovercraft, reasoning that the airspace was too unsafe, shift uncomfortably. "Now, regarding my eldest daughter's continued contributions to the rebellion, I shall ask Plutarch to please elaborate, lest anyone think me biased by my _parental affection._"

Plutarch takes over. "Miss Abernathy's creativity and cunning are boundless. Given the chance, I believe she could apply herself to areas like military strategy and weapons design, to devastating effect upon the enemy. Additionally, her rescue was required in order to secure the cooperation of our newest spy, Seneca Crane."

Only a key few knew of this development beforehand. Mutterings of surprise and skepticism arise around the room. "The Head Gamemaker?" someone says incredulously. "How can we trust him?"

Maysilee's gaze meets Plutarch's. She, too, is interested in learning the answer to this question. She knows plenty of what Rain thinks of her fiance, but clever as her daughter is, Maysilee knows that love can heavily color one's perspective.

"I have worked with Seneca for years. We joined the Gamemakers around the same time," Plutarch begins. "I grant that, to many, he seems like he would be the epitome of a Capitol loyalist, blindly devoted to the hand that feeds him."

"Don't tell us that he's been a closet rebel the whole time like you."

"No, that would be utterly false," Plutarch retorts. "In fact, Seneca is not political in the least. His career may be political in nature, but once you strip away all the trappings of Capitol entertainment, the man himself is not. He is not an ideologue who clings stubbornly to his principles and beliefs. If he has any cause at all, then that cause is Rain Abernathy and their unborn child. Almost since the day he met her, he has looked out for Miss Abernathy's wellbeing. And now that she is in District 13, her fate—and their child's—is firmly entwined with the rebellion's. So you can rest assured that whatever Seneca does now in the Capitol, it will be for our benefit, or at least not to our detriment." Plutarch's gaze sweeps the room. "Any more concerns about our new spy?"

No one speaks up.

Coin moves forward again. "Assuming Plutarch's measure of Crane is correct, we have gained an invaluable asset in the Capitol who makes up for the loss of our other agents. It is to our understanding that our deception surrounding Miss Abernathy's rescue was successful and that Snow now believes Crane to be on his side more firmly than ever. It is likely that Crane will soon be in Snow's company more frequently than before. The Head Gamemaker's job is similar to that of Minister of Aediles, from before the Dark Days: overlooking agents responsible for maintaining public morale and civil peace, especially during wartime. We think Snow will begin to use Crane in this capacity, which will entitle Crane to confidential information that could be very useful to us."

Then Haymitch speaks. "Snow isn't stupid. He trusts no one absolutely, not even his own family. He's bound to retain some residual suspicions of Seneca Crane, and the closer Seneca Crane gets to Snow's inner circle, the more he'll be watched. How do you expect him to safely pass on information?"

"Means of contact with us were provided for Crane," Coin answers crisply. "Considering the urgency with which Crane insisted on the rescue of Miss Abernathy, we could not formulate a detailed plan. In his last contact with us, Crane assured that he would use all caution and discretion possible. Oftentimes, these sorts of plans must be left to the spies themselves to create."

"What happens if he is found out?" Maysilee asks calmly.

Coin looks passively at her. "In that case, the odds are that we will have no time to come to his aid. That is the lot of spies, Advisor Donner. Now, unless there are any pressing questions, we need to move on. Miss Abernathy was joined by others on her flight here, including Cressida Heraldstone and some of her filming team. Heraldstone is a notably talented director, so we can begin filming propos in earnest…"

Haymitch's mouth presses close to Maysilee's ear. "They're pretty much expecting him to be killed, aren't they?" She nods stiffly. "Do you suppose Rain knows?"

"I'd be surprised if she hasn't figured it out already."

"I wonder, does Coin care so little about his odds because he's a Capitolite or because he's affiliated with an Abernathy?"  
Maysilee shrugs lightly. "I imagine it's for the same reason Snow hates us so much." Then she returns her attention to the president, at the same time confident and paranoid in power.

* * *

**We will return to our regular broadcast with Ember, Cato, &amp; Co. in the next chapter.**

* * *

***If you haven't already done so and want to read an AU situation wherein Rain never hacks the arena and the tributes play out the 74th Hunger Games, read my other story A Game Played Beautifully By Children. Or don't, if you'd rather not cry today. Apparently it makes people cry.**

* * *

**1\. All the talk about the Capitol's high esteem for their dead ancestors was inspired by the Ancient Romans' esteem for their own ancestors. _Mos maiorum!_**

**2\. Seneca's ancestor Old Annaeus is so named because of the full name of the historical Ancient Roman on whom Suzanne Collins probably based his character, Lucius Annaeus Seneca, a.k.a. Seneca the Younger.**

**3\. An aedile was an Ancient Roman official whose duties included overseeing public buildings, public festivals, aaaaaand public games. :)**

* * *

**School is starting up again soon (**_**erk**_**), which means I will be getting busy again, and I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up the every-two-wee****k schedule once the semester starts. So the next chapter might not be coming until three weeks from now.**

**BUT to make up for it, in about one week, I will be posting the oneshot requested by my most recent contest winner. It will be entitled "Unwritten Hearts," and the prompt was to expand on Cato's mention in an earlier chapter about how he often saw Ember on TV as they were growing up. Keep an eye out for that!**

**I also have a small stock of the beginnings of various other SM-related stories that I might periodically publish if/when I find myself needing to buy time to work on SM itself, ex. a drabble series, some AU's, prequels.**

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**As always, if you review within a week of this update, I'll send you a preview of the next chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Sorry for the long wait. I've been swamped with pre-school things, and I am mentally and physically exhausted. But an update! Huzzah!**

**Thank you very much to Swimming Trees, theotherpianist, HermioneandMarcus, Randommmfanatic, Martapt, FwuffyUnicorn, Mely-the-Mockingjay, vampluver19, Ro-Lee, and my guest reviewers!**

**Guest 1: As you are about to see, there is indeed more Ember and Cato this chapter. But...be careful what you wish for, is all I can say right here. Thank you, and I will definitely need that luck for school!**

**Guest 2: That is perfectly fine. Like you said, everything that's happening in Thirteen and such is necessary for the overall story, and it's also setting up the groundwork for when everyone's storylines eventually intersect. But the pack is also very fun, and I miss writing them sometimes too!**

**Guest 3: More Ember and Cato, as requested. But pretty much the whole world thinks Ember and the others are dead, so maybe not so crazy since the characters don't have the knowledge that we readers (and the writer) do?**

* * *

Twenty-Five:

"Mockingjays!" Rue trills, gazing happily up at the birds flittering overhead among the trees. We all stop to observe as they warble something that sounds a lot like her high, clear voice.

"You have them in Ten?" I ask Vidal. Ced said that we recently crossed over from District 5 to 10. Steady progress. One district at a time.

"Not out on the plains, but I've heard they live in the more woodsy parts," Vidal answers, admiring a passing jay. "Wow. Your pin really does look a lot like them."

My hand reaches up to rub Mom's pin. I've seen and heard mockingjays before back home, so they're not a completely new sight for me like for some of the others in the pack. But a pang of homesickness strikes across my chest as I unwittingly recall summer days with my friends, competing to see who could get the mockingjays to imitate them the most. Katniss usually won.

"We have this tune that we whistle back home, to warn people that Peacekeepers are coming," I hear Rue telling Finch as I return to the present. Rue then sings a little four-note melody, and immediately the mockingjays echo it in a haunting chorus.

The birdsong fades behind us as we continue trekking. Group morale has been high the last few days. We're better-fed and better-rested than we have been on the entire expedition so far, and some of the pack, although hazy on the details, are nonetheless proud that we've defeated Alasdar, like some terrible villain in our fairy tale quest.

I just move along whenever anyone nearby starts talking about it.

Around noon, Cedric draws us all to a halt. He coughs, clears his throat, and tells Cato and me, "So we can keep on staying in the woods, but that'll take us a few days longer than if we cut across the plains because we'll have to make a huge circle." Ced illustrates it for us on the map as he talks.

"Woods provide cover," Cato murmurs.

"But that's so much time lost." I purse my lips, as homesickness surges through my chest again. "We should ask Vidal and Araceli for their opinions."

The two kids from Ten look at the map thoughtfully. "This is a pretty remote part of the district. Only a few people live out here," Araceli says. "And the people who live out here aren't the type to go blabbing off to the Capitol if they happen to see us."

"Are you willing to bet everyone's lives on that?" Cato counters.

Araceli hesitates.

Vidal, however, has a gleam in his eyes. "What day of the week is it?"

We stare at him, confused by his strange question. "Thursday," Cedric answers.

"Perfect," Vidal breathes. "I have an idea. Every Thursday, in the early afternoon, my friend Javi passes through here on his weekly cattle run."

"Let me guess, you want to talk to him?" Cato says, expression unreadable.

Vidal nods eagerly. "He told me that there's a not very well-known shortcut further down the path that he uses when he passes through to pick up the cattle, and again when he brings them back on the return trip. He says he's never encountered anyone else while he's used it, and he only found it because he got lost once. Now he knows it like the back of his hand. It takes days off your journey."

"Can our sled get through it?" I ask.

Vidal frowns. "I don't know," he admits. "I've never used it. I'm not one of the herders, so I don't come out here very often. That's why I need to talk to Javi about it." He takes a breath. "And before you ask, yes, I trust him. Completely."

Cato looks at me. "What do you think? Spend an extra few days safely in the woods, risk being seen by someone on the plains, or definitely be seen by Vidal's friend?"

I bite my lip. We're already behind schedule with the fire-bombs and then..._that_. But neither do I want to suddenly get careless and potentially be caught by the Capitol after everything we've been through, after how far we've come. We don't know anything about the locals here—but Vidal knows this Javi character. His best friend, if I recall correctly. Perhaps Javi is to Vidal like Katniss is to me. If we were in Twelve and I needed Katniss's help to get the pack across safely, I would trust her in a heartbeat. "Vidal, if you truly trust Javi with your life, with all of our lives, then I trust your judgment."

The plan is simple. Vidal and Araceli are going to stake out a nearby spot that Vidal is certain is along Javi's route, after Javi pointed it out on a map one time. If they encounter someone besides Javi, they know best how to react to their fellow citizens. If or when they spot Javi, Vidal—after vetting Javi's continued trustworthiness, which he promised to allay Cato's continued doubts—will ask Javi about the route, after which he and Araceli will return to us. With Javi, if it goes well.

Simple. Safe. No surprises. Hopefully.

The two from Ten leave, and the rest of us settle down to wait. Cato is circling around the pack, body tense as he glowers suspiciously at every movement and sound in the woods, as if expecting to be attacked by Peacekeepers at any moment. I go over to him and touch his arm. "What exactly are you worried about?" I inquire calmly.

"That something will go wrong. That the wrong person will recognize them and they'll get caught. That a squadron of Peacekeepers will be sent to find the rest of us. That Vidal's friend isn't as good a friend as he thinks." Cato shakes his head. "Do you think I'm paranoid?"

"No, you're being careful. There are factors that we can't control, and I'm a little worried, too. But the odds that a Peacekeeper will be patrolling all the way out here are low. And Vidal and Araceli are both sensible enough to tell if they meet someone who's bad news. If they suspect Javi or someone is going to report them, they'll hightail it back here to warn us."

Cato sighs. "You're right. But I wouldn't have minded sticking in the woods, even for a few extra days."

I look at him skeptically. "You're telling me you would have preferred to prolong staying out here, trying to get by day to day, rather than getting to Thirteen, where we won't have to walk for miles on end and we're guaranteed food and a safe place to sleep?"

"Well, obviously food and safety are good and all. But…" He lowers his voice, smirking. "I don't think your family would be too happy with me crawling in to sleep next to you like I do now."

The familiar teasing lilt of his voice makes me warm. "But they would only be unhappy with that if they thought you were planning something...hm...dissolute."

The blue of his eyes darkens. He leans in. "Who says I'm not?"

A shiver races down my spine. "Should I be worried about tonight? Do I need Cedric to be my bodyguard?"

"I don't think this is something you want your brother around for."

For some reason, I have lost the ability to move. Or think coherently. But I make a valiant effort, because I definitely do not want to do anything potentially embarrassing in front of the entire pack. Face burning, I stammer, "It, um...er—y-you shouldn't be talking about these things so openly in the middle of the day."

"So can I talk about them openly at night?"

_This guy._ "You…" Abort. Abort mission. I cast my glance around our break site, hoping for something that'll give me an escape from this increasingly alarming conversation. "You...haven't eaten lunch yet, have you? You really should. Vidal's not here to make sure people don't steal seconds so you should get your share before someone grabs it. Don't want you to be hangry or anything when they come back."

His shoulders shake slightly, and I realize he's laughing—_laughing!_—at me. But before I can muster the proper amount of indignation, he mock-salutes me. "Aye, Captain. As you command." He saunters off.

There's an amused sound from Glimmer, who's lying down on the grass. "Well, you lost control of that conversation pretty quickly," she says without opening her eyes or moving.

"Shush, Glimmer."

She snorts, eyes still closed. "Well, at least you guys are making progress. Unlike those two." She waves her hand vaguely in the direction of where Finch is examining the map and Marvel is hovering over her shoulder.

"I think they've made progress," I argue, happy to talk about a relationship situation that isn't mine. "They're talking more, and Finch looks a little more openly cheerful with him."

Glimmer sighs and finally sits up. "She's clearly admitted to herself that she likes him back, and Marvel couldn't be more obvious about his crush if he confessed it on live national television. I don't see why she doesn't just go for it. Isn't Finch supposed to be logical?"

"Maybe she thinks she _is_ being logical," I suggest. "She's a pragmatist. Maybe she's considering the possibility that things won't work out between them, and then they're stuck together for the next few weeks with only twenty-two other people as a buffer, day-in and day-out."

Glimmer looks unimpressed. "Did you say 'pragmatist' or 'pessimist'? Come on, if you approach everything with the view that it _might_ not work out, you'll never do anything." She crosses her arms with a huff.

"Maybe...maybe she's...afraid of intimacy? I know it sounds weird," I add hastily, "but if she's never been—"

"It's not weird," Glimmer interjects, nodding seriously. "That's a legit point." She sighs. "Well, it's all speculation right now. We can't do anything until we have more intel, and even then it's up to her what she does."

"Aw, so we can't meddle?" I say, only half-jokingly.

"Mm...maybe if it looks like it'll take her ten years to get off her butt before she finally makes a move." I'm pretty sure I'm matching Glimmer's devious smirk.

As if by some sixth sense letting her know we're talking about her, Finch looks up directly at us. We don our most innocent expressions, but her eyes narrow in suspicion anyway. I turn away from her stare in favor of gazing at the surrounding trees. The foliage here is still different from the plant species back in Twelve, but as we slowly inch closer and closer, I feel a simmering excitement, even though I know I won't actually be able to go home. Not for a long time.

The skin on the back of my neck prickles, as I start to feel strangely unsettled. The feeling that someone's watching us. _Ah, Cato's paranoia is wearing off on me. _Then, before I can linger too long on my uneasiness, the woods are filled with mockingjay song. Before Vidal and Araceli left, Rue taught them two short melodies—one for trouble and one for all-clear—to pass on to the birds, depending on if the mission was a success or not. Everyone visibly relaxes, including me, when we recognize the tune as the all-clear.

"They're coming back!" calls Duff, one of the lookouts we set to give us a head's up in case someone _not _Vidal and Araceli, and possibly Javi, were approaching—namely, Peacekeepers.

Before long, not two but three figures come into view, plus a horse. With Vidal and Araceli is a stocky, very tanned boy around Vidal's age. He's holding the horse's reins and enthusiastically chattering away with Vidal. "...had me worried, there have been rumors around these parts about band—oh! People!"

They stop. "Everyone, meet Javi," Vidal enthuses, looking the happiest that I have yet to see him. "Javi, everyone. You probably remember some of these guys from TV several weeks ago, but that's Marvel, Finch, Clove…" It's obvious most of the names are going straight over Javi's head, but he nods anyway as Vidal goes around the pack, his arm around Javi's shoulders. "...Glimmer, and Ember."

Javi's eyes widen in recognition. "Ember Abernathy1 I definitely know who you are. It's really great to meet you." He steps toward me, hand outstretched. Before I can stop myself, I instinctively flinch and backtrack from the excited boy.

"Watch it!" Cato growls at Javi.

Javi looks bewildered. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything…"

Crap. I wasn't supposed to do that. Normally I'm completely up to meeting people, and putting forth all the social niceties, not scampering away like a spooked rabbit. "It's okay, that was my bad. You didn't do anything." _Get a grip, Ember._ I step toward him and firmly shake his hand, ordering my heart to stop racing like a panicked rabbit. "Nice to meet you, Javi. We appreciate your help."

"Least I could do for Vidal and his friends." Javi beams at Vidal before taking a deep breath. "You guys… Everyone thinks you lot are dead. But knowing that you've all survived what the Capitol's thrown at you—that would get so many people's spirits up."

"Javi, our survival has to be kept secret," I warn him. "If the Capitol suspects we're still alive—"

He nods. "I get it. No one will hear anything from me. I just can't imagine how everyone would react if they know."

"Call up the first available Peacekeeper," Clove comments darkly.

"You'd be surprised," Javi murmurs. Then, "Is this the sled Vidal mentioned?" He spends a few moments examining the vehicle and complimenting Franzi and Lothar's craftsmanship. "There are some rocky bits on the trail, but if this sled has lasted as long as you say across forested terrain, it'll survive. Are those _grooslings?_"

With that, there's no more reason to tarry, and we fall in line behind Javi, and Vidal beside him.

"We will have to leave the cover of the woods," Javi warns, "but only for a minute so we can cross to the trail entrance."

I spot Cato fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. "Behave," I hiss.

"Do you actually trust him?"

"I trust Vidal."

"But by proxy you're trusting someone _you_ don't know, again."

I stare at him. "Again?"

Cato cringes. "Not important. I meant that you can't really be sure—"

"Is this about Alasdar?" The name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. "Are you questioning my judgment because of what happened?"

Cato hesitates. The look on his face, poorly concealed, is all the answer I need.

"Fine," I say crisply. "Let Clove have at Javi, then. Forget that Vidal is his friend and the most able to assess if we can trust him. Just let her eliminate the threat before it's a threat. Didn't she say something like that last time?" I look pointedly at his sword. "Or maybe you can take care of him. You seem ready to get some heads rolling."

"Is it so wrong that I'm on-guard because of everything that just happened with Alasdar?" Cato snaps. "I don't want you trusting the wrong person and getting into trouble again."

"Oh yeah, it was all my fault, wasn't it?" I reply bitterly. "Stupid, naive Ember, isn't that right? Javi's probably another psycho out to get me."

"That's not what I mean!"

"It definitely sounds like it!"

Cato clenches his jaw, as if physically restraining himself from saying something. He exhales audibly and looks away from me. "It's my turn with the sled."

I feel the instinctive urge to call out to him, to stop him. But I stay silent and watch him retreat to the rear of the pack, a heavy feeling in my gut.

"That could've gone better."

I startle, having completely forgotten that Cedric was beside us during the duration of our argument. "Hush, nerd," I say half-heartedly.

Cedric blissfully ignores my command for silence. "I don't think I've heard you guys fight like that since the fire-bombs. Does that mean you guys are breaking up?"

"_No!_" I blurt out, then, taking a breath, I repeat more calmly, "No. Definitely not. We just...had a disagreement. Happens all the time." Couples have arguments. Of course they do. Mom and Dad have had plenty of fights. But that fact doesn't make me feel any better about it.

My skin prickles the entire time we're out in the open, but Javi, who's enthusiastically catching up with Vidal as we move, wastes no time dithering. Before long, we're under cover again, in the shadow of natural rock formations. "We're at the trailhead," Javi informs those of us at the front. Then a bright grin cuts across his tanned face. "Are you ready to see something that'll blow you away?"

Hopefully not _blow away_ in the sense that Peacekeepers' guns will blow us away. Then I bite my lip hard, scolding myself for such a thought. I'm letting Cato's suspicion get to me.

"What is it? What is it?" Ced demands.

"You'll have to see for yourself." Javi winks. "Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, my little friend."

Ced and I exchange uncertain but curious looks. We aren't kept in suspense for long, because at our next turn, the whole world suddenly opens and lays itself at our feet. Trees that look no longer than my finger carpet expanses of mountains and stone, dark green and pale gray sprawling as far as the eye can see, beneath a cloudless blue sky that unfolds into infinity. All this alone is awe-inspiring enough, but what really takes our breaths away are the solemn, titanic faces carved into one of the mountains. With dark gazes and wise miens, the regal men stare thoughtfully into the distance, surveying the land around them.

"Who are they?" Cedric asks, eyes wide.

"No one knows for sure," Javi tells us, having paused so everyone in the pack has the opportunity to gape to their hearts' content. "Most likely ancient leaders, from the time before Panem. You can see where there used to be a fourth face, but an earthquake or something or other probably collapsed it."

My hand reaches out, and my mouth opens to ask Cato, as someone from a district that quarries stone, if he has any idea how long such an endeavor would have taken. But my hand touches only air, and with a jolt, I remember that he's way at the back of the group. My hand falls to my side.

"How did they survive for so long?" Cedric is asking Javi.

"Sheer luck, probably. Except that fourth face, he was unlucky. This is a pretty remote part of Panem, and close to the border. No one probably cared enough to target it or have any firefights around here."

The giant faces eventually fall behind us, and then we are left to contemplate only the nature surrounding us. The terrain is more mountainous than at Twelve, but the forest and greenery remind me of home. _Just keep moving. Keep moving, and you'll get there. Just keep moving._

During our short break, I'm able to pretend I'm too busy to think about talking to Cato. But when we stop for the evening, I have to face the truth: I'm having trouble even looking his way. And as far as I know, he isn't looking at me either.

...But I refuse to approach him first. He'll think I'm trying to apologize or something, and I have nothing to apologize for. He's the one who thinks my judgment is impaired and that I'm making all the wrong choices.

"Trouble in paradise?" Clove calls as she shuffles past, weighted down by the bear pelt she insists on wearing. How is she not sweating bullets under that mass of fur?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter.

"Of course you don't. Jerky?" She holds out a strip.

I blink at it. "Is that…?"

Clove grins wolfishly as she confirms, "Bear."

Warily, I take the strip and look at it for a long moment. Clove seems happy enough munching away on her own piece, so I take a bite. "Huh. Tastes kind of like beef."

"I know, right?" Clove chomps down again. "Little sweet, too. Kind of a berry flavor."

"Blackberry," I mumble.

She raises an eyebrow. "You can tell it that specifically? What, do you have super tastebuds?"

"Uh. No. I just… That was the bear's name. Blackberry."

Clove snorts. "A black bear named Blackberry? Who came up with that?" I say nothing. It doesn't take long for it to click for Clove. When it does, she frowns as she viciously tears off another piece of jerky with her teeth. "If only we could've fed Loony to _Blackberry._ That would've been fun."

Ah yes, fun. And messy. And loud. And gruesome. "I'm satisfied with how it turned out with Glimmer."

"Hm. Me too, I guess. Glad we all got a turn at him before Glimmer ended things."

I stare at her. "You _all_ got a turn? What does that mean?"

"Exactly what you think it means. Cato, Marvel, and I hacked away at Cuckoo-Face before Glimmer stabbed his throat."

Against my will, the colorful scene plays out in my head. Perhaps I should be satisfied, even gleeful, that my erstwhile tormentor met a gruesome end, like Clove insinuated. But all I feel is a sense of nausea that after everything that happened, there was still more blood and gore and violence. I just wanted things to end quietly, neatly, to put it all behind us and to keep it in the past. "But I thought Glimmer—I told Glimmer to take care of it." Because I thought Glimmer would give Alasdar what he deserved without going over-the-top. Because I thought Glimmer would understand my need for justice rather than vengeance. Because with Glimmer, I could have carried on not knowing what exactly she did, not knowing the precise method with which she made Alasdar pay his due, just the general yet definitive knowledge that the ended that terrible chapter, and never dwelt on or imagined it again. But with any of the others—Clove, Marvel, _Cato, _each with their obviously favorite weapons—I can imagine _exactly_ what they would have done to Alasdar.

Dozens of different short films reel through my mind, catching every moment, every splatter of blood, as Clove's knife or Marvel's spear or Cato's sword cuts, stabs, slashes through Alasdar. And every imagined expression of agony on Alasdar's face brings me not pleasure, but the dread that there is yet another image to haunt me, the conviction that no matter what I do, something will always remind me of him.

"Come on, you didn't really think any of us would pass up the opportunity to get at Ol' Psycho?"

Well...no. But I asked them—I told them—_Cato_ of all people should have… _No, I didn't tell them._ All the thoughts scrambling in my head as I considered what to do with Alasdar, I didn't actually say them out loud. I just assumed that they—Cato, and Glimmer, at least—would understand what I meant when I singled out Glimmer to end things.

"It's not like he didn't deserve any of it," I hear Clove say. She's right. Alasdar deserved everything the Careers did, and I'm sure they did quite a bit to him. But it's not what I wanted. A simple execution. That's all. A short and simple end to that chapter. Instead, I got an over-the-top extended scene that I have never wanted.

When I go to sleep tonight, there is certain to be a nightmare waiting for me.

* * *

"This is ridiculous."

Finch just nods in agreement with Glimmer's proclamation.

"It's been the better part of a week and those knuckleheads still haven't spoken more than two words to each other," the blonde continues. "We all know something's up with them, but they're pretending like everything is peachy. Gah!"

Finch remains silent, but once again, her agreement is understood. It wasn't this bad even before Ember started to trust Cato. At least back then they still talked. Every time someone tried to get one of the two lovebirds to 'fess up about what was going on, whether it was Glimmer's forthrightness or Marvel's ability to talk circles around the topic, they either deftly changed the subject (Ember) or flat-out told them to shut up (Cato).

Glimmer pounds her fist into her other palm. "Those two need an intervention."

"They won't like anyone meddling in their business."

"Too bad for them. It's affecting the rest of the group, so they'll have to deal."

Well, that is true. Most of the pack has been on tenterhooks around Ember and Cato, and no one wants to be the one to pass on messages from one to the other. And they've already had a snafu with contradicting plans. It would be so easy for things to snowball. Still, Finch plays devil's advocate. "If they're having a fight like this so early in their relationship, isn't that a bad sign?"

"Circumstances aren't normal, so we can't hold them to normal standards," Glimmer points out. "They also got together really quickly, all things concerned. Everything's on fast-forward, so you could say they're actually right on schedule."

"Wouldn't it be better for them to work things out themselves?"

"Yes. And we're going to let them. We're just going to accelerate things."

Finch looks sideways at Glimmer. "Don't tell me you're about to suggest the wilderness equivalent of locking them together in a closet."

Glimmer looks away innocently.

Without warning, Marvel comes up between them and slings an arm over them both. "What are we plotting over here?"

"Apparently, the wilderness equivalent of locking Ember and Cato together in a closet," Finch answers, trying to ignore the heat that erupted upon his sudden arrival.

"Oh, thank God. Those two are driving me crazy. So. How are we going to do this?"

Glimmer taps her chin. "That Javi knows this trail really well, doesn't he?"

* * *

If Javi didn't know that his sudden disappearance would cause something of a ruckus among his friends and family, he would totally stick it out with Vidal and the other tributes in the wilderness. Things have been getting exponentially harder in Ten since the Games-that-weren't. And he hates having to say goodbye to Vidal again. But he knows such a move would be unwise, and so right now he is riding toward the ranch where he's supposed to pick up his usual herd. He led the tributes to the end of the trail this morning and parted ways, renewing his vow of secrecy that he would not tell anyone about their survival. And he will not. Not when it means Vidal's life, not when it means there might be hope for this rebellion.

Javi sweeps aside thoughts of seeing Vidal again—he'll probably end up blubbering like a baby if he lingers on them—and ruminates over the other tributes instead. He knew Araceli a little before the Games, both of them being herders and all, but not well. Nowhere near as well as he knows Vidal. But it's nice to know that another tribute from Ten survived along with his friend. It's just a shame he can't tell either of their families that their children, their siblings, are still alive.

The Careers were not what he expected. The kids from Ten, like most of the less-prepared tributes, usually get killed by the Careers. But this bunch was...quite normal, to be honest. Granted, that girl from Two is kind of scary, but Javi writes off the reason for that as being the humongous bear pelt she's swathed in. It didn't help that she boasted she was the one who killed it. The girl from One was rather standoffish and suspicious, but he saw her chatting and laughing a few times with some of the other tributes, so Javi supposes she can't be too bad. Marvel—he really likes Marvel. Hilarious guy. Javi could tell that the Career was eyeing him warily the whole time, same as everyone else, but he made up for it with all the wisecracks and funny anecdotes.

Then there was Cato. Javi definitely remembers him; the guy from Two was the one everyone was sure would win. Javi got the strong impression that Cato didn't like him, so he steered clear of the blond tribute most of the time. But Javi decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, regarding why Cato was so cool toward him, after Vidal informed him that he and Ember Abernathy were a thing but had gotten into an argument. Javi would never have guessed, based on how Cato and Ember never once spoke to each other while he was there. _I guess any guy would be pretty prickly toward some encroaching stranger while he and his girl are on the outs. Not that Cato had anything to worry about._

Speaking of what he wasn't expecting, neither was Ember Abernathy. The impression Javi had of her, from years of watching the Abernathy family on TV, was a fiery, strong-willed girl who wasn't afraid of making her opinion known. But while Javi was with the tributes, she seemed rather...skittish. She was quieter than he thought she would be, and she never stood closer than five feet to him. Javi would've thought it was just him if he hadn't noticed her also holding a few of the other tributes at a distance. All Vidal would say on the matter was that they'd had a bad experience not long before and they were all still on the edge. _"And it's not helping that she and Cato are fighting."_

Then Vidal and some of the other tributes began pestering him about the trail ahead, if there were any convenient gullies or caves or places where two people could get trapped. Haha...what? After some convincing from Vidal and assurance that it was for the greater good, Javi told them about a ravine from which he figured two people would be hard-pressed to escape from alone, but if someone tossed them a rope or something from above, they'd be fine.

_They'll all be fine,_ Javi tries to tell himself. "They'll be fine," he says aloud.

And then someone darts out in front of him, causing his horse to rear back in fright. Javi is usually able to keep his seat, but as absentminded as he's been, he soon finds himself landing on the ground with a grunt. His head swims, but a quick self-assessment tells him he probably hasn't gotten anything worse than some serious bruises.

That's before someone plants his boot on top of his chest, and Javi realizes there's a good chance he's going to have to reassess his health soon. A glance out of the corner of his eye tells him somebody else has gotten a hold of his horse's reins, and there are several other people encircling him.

_Bandits._ Not all people in Panem live legally within district borders. Javi doesn't know what it's like in other places, but in Ten, these outlaws are a semi-regular problem. Lone, unarmed herders like him are often considered easy pickings. But it's not a problem they can resolve, since the Capitol seems convinced that a group of people on horseback are more likely to try to flee past the borders than a single person, and there's no way the Capitol is going to start allowing civilians to carry arms. And of course, Peacekeepers have more important things to do than ensure the safety of citizens.

So far, Javi has been lucky and managed to avoid bandits on these herding trips. Usually he's very vigilant about keeping an eye out for shady folks, and his plan if he ever encountered trouble was to try to outrace them. Unfortunately, his lack of attention today has proved catastrophic. With trepidation, he looks up into the face of the man with his foot on his chest.

"You can have the horse," Javi tells him, with some reluctance. He's rather fond of Princess, but not at the cost of his life. "I don't have much else on me, but you can have it."

"Thanks, buddy. That's awfully generous of you." The man removes his foot, but Javi doesn't dare to move yet. "But that's not what I wanted to ask you about."

Javi swallows. "What's that?"

A cutting smile. "Talk to me about that, ah, caravan of kids you've been traveling with these last few days."

* * *

**Beeeeee caaaarefulllllll whaaaat yooouuuu wiiiish foooor. Bwahaha. Actually, I had the Ember/Cato argument planned out long before I got any requests for more Ember/Cato, so it's not like I wrote it just to spite people. I am a cruel writer but not a petty one. :)**

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**In case you haven't seen it yet, I have published the newest oneshot, Unwritten Hearts. It features Cato growing up with his celebrity crush on Ember, so if you want to read more about little Cato, you'll enjoy it, I hope!**

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**As usual, if you review within a week, I'll send you a preview of the next chapter. The semester has yet to start but it's already packed with all sorts of commitments; we'll see if I can get in an earlier update, but for now I'd ballpark it at three weeks from now.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Miraculously, I am still alive. See the note at the end if you want an **_**EARLY UPDATE**_** for the next chapter. :D**

**Thank you so much to ForeverTeamEdward13, Ro-Lee, theotherpianist, martatheinvisiblegal, Randommmfanatic, MissChloeSalvatore, Mely-the-Mockingjay, and vampluver19 for reviewing!**

* * *

Twenty-Six:

Finch frowns. "So you want us to just..._push_ them in?"

"Yeah! They'll be fine." Marvel waves it off.

"Won't they get hurt?"

"Eh, Cato's a big guy. And if we get him down there first, then he can just catch Ember. Totally romantic."

Glimmer rolls her eyes. "You have a weird sense of romance."

Finch sweeps her gaze across the ravine below them. "I have a plan that's less likely to give them broken necks."

"We're all ears." Glimmer looks at her.

"I'll get Ember to come out here with me, and I'll accidentally drop something. We all know Ember is more physical than I am, so she'll volunteer to jump down and grab it. But, like Javi said, she won't be able to get back out by herself, and I wouldn't be able to pull her out by myself, either. So I'll have to go back and get help. I'll grab Cato, come back here with him, and say it looks like all they need to do to get back out is to boost each other up—we know better, but they won't. Once he jumps down, I'll leave, and we'll come back to get them in an hour or so when they've had ample time to make up."

Marvel and Glimmer exchange looks, then look back at Finch. "That," Glimmer says, "is a far better plan than just shoving them in."

"Hey, it wasn't that bad!" Marvel pouts. "But yeah, it is a good plan. Still, there's no room for romantically catching anyone."

"Ugh, dweeb. Cato will be _romantically_ going to her rescue. Is that not good enough for you?"

Marvel makes a face before returning his attention to Finch. "So how are you going to get Ember out here alone?"

Finch suddenly looks away. "Uh...I'll think of something." Glimmer looks knowingly at her while Marvel, thankfully, still seems oblivious.

* * *

Vidal and I are debating whether to kill another groosling for dinner when Finch sidles up. "Ember, can we talk?"

"Hm?" Vidal waves me off, and I turn to Finch. "What is it?"

My friend looks at the ground, her fingers covering her mouth. "Um… Could we go somewhere more private?"

As we walk, Finch keeps her gaze upon the ground, hands in her pockets. "Is something wrong?" I ask.

"No, b-but… I…" She manages to get out those stammers before falling silent again. I wait patiently for her to gather her thoughts, and at last, she resumes. "I think...that...Marvel is very nice."

It takes every ounce of my self-control not to squeal. "Mm-hmm. He is."

Finch withdraws her hands and begins to fidget with something. I can't quite tell what it is, except that it seems a little orange-ish and soft. "How...do I know for sure if I really...like somebody?"

_Ahhhhhhhh!_ "Well," I begin calmly, "I'm sure that you, being an aspiring doctor, know about the biology of it all. Increased heart rate, feeling warm, that sort of thing. But in my experience, you'll also find yourself thinking about him more than you'd expect. You notice little things about him. You feel a bit jealous of anyone else who gets his attention, even in a completely platonic way. You catch yourself wondering all sorts of what-ifs revolving around him. When you're talking with him or just near him, it feels different than with other guys. And when you're not talking with him, it can…" The small smile I didn't realize was on my face slips away. "...hurt," I say quietly. I shake my head. "Does any of that sound familiar to you?"

Finch nods slowly. "I think so." We come to a stop. "So...so if I figure that I do like M...somebody, what do I do next?"

"You can just say you like Marvel," I tease, and Finch turns red. "Well, he definitely likes you back. If you just tell him you like him too, he'll be over the moon."

"But that's so...embarrassing."

"Why would that be embarrassing? There's practically zero chance of rejection."

"But it might seem like I'm desperate for his attention, or maybe he's changed his mind, or—_oh!_" The orange thing Finch was fiddling with tumbles out of her hands and over the ledge we're standing beside. We both peer into the ravine and spot the object a good several yards below us. If I squint, it looks vaguely like a small stuffed fox. "Oh no."

"What is it?"

"It's my token. From home. My grandmother made it for me when I was little."

"I've never seen you take it out before."

"Do you really think I'd advertise that I'm carrying a stuffed animal around at my age?" Finch asks dryly.

"Point taken. Well, it doesn't seem like that difficult a climb. Be right back."

"I can do it—"

"I'll be quick." With that, I begin to find my way down. I carefully hop onto the ground, and before long I have the little fox in my hand. Then I realize I have a problem. "Er…"

"What's wrong?"

"I can't figure out how to get back up." I rove around the ravine, searching for a good place to climb, but to no avail.

"Oh. Um. Should I come down?"

"No, no, please don't. We don't want both of us getting stuck down here." I try hopping onto a small ledge. Failure. I purse my lips. "You might need to get help."

"Probably," Finch agrees as she looks down at me. "Will you be okay down there by yourself? I'll come back as fast as I can."

"I'll be fine. Go."

Finch leaves, and almost immediately, I regret it, even though I know sending her to get reinforcements was the best decision. I haven't been alone for longer than a minute since...since _him,_ and now I can feel goosebumps crawling all across my skin. It occurs to me that I am trapped in this ravine, and if anyone happens along and finds me, I won't be able to do much from down here, for all that I made sure to leave camp well-armed.

"Get a grip," I whisper to myself fiercely. "There's no one else out here, just the pack. And he's dead. He's dead. He's dead."

A twig snaps. I jump, blowgun in my hand. But when I look up, it only turns out to be a deer that's just as spooked as me and abruptly flees. I take a deep breath then begin to quietly pace the length of the ravine, which turns out to be smaller than I originally thought, but still quite high. I'm about to try climbing on the craggy ledge again when I hear footsteps.

"Ember? You okay?" Finch calls out.

"Yeah!"

She peers over the ledge. So does Marvel. So does Cato. I can't help wincing as I look away. Did she have to get _him?_

Marvel clucks his tongue in disapproval. "Clumsy, clumsy. Did you fall in, Ember?"

I scowl back at him. "Just help me out of here."

"I dunno, you could try asking nicely."

Cato sighs, and we all look at him. "Let's just get this over with. Can you climb out?"

"If I could, I would've done it by now," I snap. "But who knows. I might have _misjudged_ the situation."

He shoots me a look before surveying the ravine. "It's too high for us to just pull you out, and none of us brought any rope."

"Someone might have to go down and give her a boost," Marvel chimes in.

Without any debate about who it's going to be, Cato begins the descent. I cross my arms and lean back against the opposite wall. It's when I'm determinedly looking away from him and therefore focusing on the two above us that I realize there's something funny about Finch and Marvel's expressions. "Hey, what are you two…"

Cato lands on the ground, and Marvel lets out a whoop. Both of us snap our gazes toward him. "Alright, we'll be back in an hour!"

Cato's eyes narrow. "What do you mean, be back in an hour?"

"It means we'll return to this spot in approximately sixty minutes. Now, don't bother trying to climb back out yourselves. We've been told by a reliable source that you'll need outside help."

I turn to the other. "Finch…"

She looks away. "It's for your own good."

"Don't you guys dare sit in silence for the next hour," Marvel warns. "If you haven't properly made up by the time we're back, you're staying in there for another hour." Then he beams. "Have fun! But not too much fun. Don't forget there are children in these woods."

"_Marvel!_" both of us bark as the two of them dash off.

I scowl at the little stuffed fox in my hand. "_Oh no! It fell!_" I sourly mimic, in a poor imitation of Finch's voice. "Accidentally dropped it, my ass. I should leave this stupid thing here, it'd serve her right."

Meanwhile, Cato is attempting to scale every surface that's less than completely vertical, and failing. He gets pretty close with that one ledge I was eyeing before Finch (traitor) came back but only ends up landing roughly on his feet. He sighs in frustration. "Why were you even down here in the first place?"

"What, that redheaded Judas didn't tell you?"

"Finch just said that you were stuck somewhere and needed help getting back out."

"Thanks to her," I harrumph. "She 'dropped' her district token and I went to retrieve it for her. This is the thanks I get."

"I bet Marvel only tagged along so he could make those wisecracks. When we get out of here…"

Suddenly, we remember at the same time that we aren't talking to each other. Uneasy silence descends as we settle into different corners of the ravine. I hug my knees and stare at the opposite wall, but every so often I catch my gaze drifting toward him. And every so often, I catch him quickly looking away, our eyes never meeting for more than half a second.

This is going to be a very long hour. But...wait. Marvel said that they'd leave us in here for another hour if we don't talk. And I don't think he's bluffing. Dammit.

"We—"

"I—"

We fall silent at the same time. I gesture for him to go first. He takes a breath and rakes his fingers through his hair before speaking. "I've missed you," he says quietly.

A part of me suddenly feels lighter, as if something weighing me down has now escaped from my body. But much of that heaviness still remains. I rest my forehead on my knees. "What you said wasn't very nice."

"If I recall correctly, I didn't say that much at all. You were putting words in my mouth."

"But I was right, wasn't I? You were thinking the things that I said."

"I wouldn't have said them the way you did."

"The fact remains that you were thinking them. And that's the important part. It doesn't matter if you didn't _say_ you no longer trust my judgment, because whether or not you verbalized it, you still don't. And I could tell. I could feel it. And that hurt a lot."

Cato squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "Ember, it's not that I don't trust your judgment. The problem was that I didn't agree with your judgment."

"How is that different?"

"I still trust _you._ I still trust that you're seeing the details and thinking about them and coming up with sound conclusions. But I would have made different conclusions. Maybe because I see the details differently. Maybe because I think about them differently. Maybe because I'm a paranoid little shit. Maybe...maybe because you're not the only one who was rattled by everything that happened with Alasdar."

I lower my eyes to the ground. "I think...maybe _I_ was a little...hasty, jumping to conclusions." Cato starts to say something, but I press forward. "But Cato...do you remember when I said I wanted Glimmer to finish off Alasdar?"

"Yes," he says slowly.

"Then why is it that Clove told me all of you went after him?"

He looks incredulously at me. "Ember, there was no way I was letting him get away with what he did."

"And he wouldn't have, if Glimmer had just finished him off. Why did you have to take it that far?"

"Nothing would've been too far with him."

"Are you justifying torturing him?"

"Are you _defending_ him?"

"No. Never. But it...it scares me that you guys wanted to go that far with him. And that you went through with it. Even if it was Alasdar, I don't understand how doing any of that could have brought you any sort of pleasure."

Cato tries to say something, but we're both temporarily frozen by some unusual noises that arise. We jump to our feet.

"Did you hear that?"

* * *

"Do you really think this will work?" Finch asks as she and Marvel hurry away from the ravine.

"Oh yeah, definitely. They've got nothing else to do down there except talk. And, well, _talk._" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Finch rolls her eyes, but her lips curve upward. "They're both exceptionally stubborn people. You said we'd leave them down there until they made up. If they don't talk, would we really make them stay the whole night? And we have to move on in the morning."

"All the more incentive for them to talk."

"I don't think it works that way, Marvel."

"What do you mean? That's definitely how it works. They don't want to be left behind."

"They know we're not going to leave behind two of our leaders."

Marvel shrugs. "Well, if in the morning they're still being mule-headed, then we'll get the whole pack to come watch from the top of the ravine and pressure them into talking."

"That'll make things worse. You don't have a heart-to-heart conversation when there are twenty-two people staring at you."

"You know, when you put it that way...I really want to make that happen." Marvel grins. "Come on, Finch. Even their stubbornness has limits. We probably aren't going to leave them in there when we get going in the morning, but there's no harm in leaving them overnight. I guarantee you one of them will crack by then. Cato, at least. The big softie won't want to see Ember camping out in a ditch for the night, whatever their problems."

Finch concedes the point. But… "What if _we_ don't want to see them camping out in there?"

Marvel snorts. "I dunno about you, but I would love to see Cato have to hunker down in that ravine for the night. He might kill me in the morning, but it'd be worth it." He scratches his chin. "But yeah, I wouldn't want Ember to have to do that. I suppose we could always toss down a sleeping bag." A smile stretches across his face. "But only one so they have to share."

She can't hold in her laugh. It's short and quiet, but clearly a laugh, and it only makes Marvel's smile wider. "You're very conniving," she remarks. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Ah, not as sneaky as you. If you promise not to plot behind my back, I promise not to do the same." Finch notices that their pace is beginning to slow. She looks curiously at Marvel, who clears his throat. "Do you, ah, wanna take a walk or something instead of going back to camp? Glimmer and Vidal know what we're up to, so they won't be worried if we don't show back up for an hour or so. We can circle around to check on the two lovebirds before going back later, with or without them."

Marvel's expression is relaxed, and his tone of voice is easygoing. Nonetheless, Finch detects a hint of underlying tension. _He likes you, he definitely likes you,_ she can almost hear Ember saying, and for a moment, Finch feels a pang of guilt for having tricked her.

"...Okay."

As they stroll through the woods, Marvel whistles a cheerful tune. The occasional mockingjay flitters here and there, echoing snippets of the melody. There's something comforting and peaceful about the song, and Finch listens intently as they make their way through the forest.

When the whistling fades away, Finch clears her throat and says, "That was nice."

"Yeah? That's one of my favorites mining songs. 'Underground Stars.' It's about looking for diamonds. You, uh, have any traditional District 5 songs?"

"I don't know them."

"Aw, come on. Everyone knows a song or two that they grew up with."

"I don't."

"Why do I not believe you? Come on, aren't you supposed to know everything?" he teases.

"No one knows everything. I just know more things than most people," Finch replies with a straight face. Marvel's laughter rings out among the trees. She manages—just barely—to maintain her expressionless demeanor as she looks over at him. "I don't see what's so funny. I was merely stating the truth."

The look in his eyes is very soft and pleading. It reminds her of something… "You're much funnier than you let on, Finch. I like that about you."

Finch clears her throat as her heart abruptly begins to beat erratically. "I'm not..._trying_, or anything. I just say things."

"All the better."

There's that look again. _Ah-ha!_ Finch finally manages to put a name to it: puppy-dog eyes. But she doesn't have long to congratulate herself on her correct identification of his expression before she realizes those puppy-dog eyes are doing strange things to her. Giving her this urge to give him what he wants so he'll stop looking so cutely pathetic.

_Gaaaaahhhhh._

Outwardly, Finch's mien is serene, reflecting not an iota of the turmoil inside her heart. "I suppose I might know _one_ song," she concedes at last.

"Oh, excellent. Let's hear it."

Against her will, Finch sighs in relief as the puppy-dog eyes vanish, replaced by eager anticipation. Reflexively, she rubs her throat and coughs a few times, stalling as Marvel patiently waits for her to muster her courage. "Um, let's see…" She takes a breath. When she next opens her mouth, her voice is soft and shaky. "_Rocky mountain, rocky mountain, rocky mountain high. When you're on that rocky mountain, hang your head and cry. __Do, do, do, do, Do remember me. Do, do, do, do, Do remember me._"

It doesn't take long for Finch to mumble the rest of the ditty. By the time she hits the last note, her voice has stopped trembling, but her face is flaming hot. When the last refrain fades away, Marvel, who has been listening in intent silence, begins to applause. If possible, Finch blushes even harder as he grins at her. After a moment, his hands slow down and then cease to clap altogether.

The applause does not stop.

"What a nice little songbird we got here."

Immediately, Marvel pushes her behind him as he adjusts his grip on his spear. Unfortunately, Finch can tell straight away that they're surrounded on almost all sides, as several men emerge from their hiding places and converge upon them. "There are four," she whispers in Marvel's ear, her hand lightly touching his back to let him know where she is without getting in his way. She can see him clenching his jaw. He knows that's not good, and she knows it, too. Even if by some miracle she can take out a guy, one vs. three still aren't very favorable odds. Not impossible, but Finch has yet to see Marvel fight more than one opponent at once, or without the Careers or anyone else at his back. Except that time he scuffled with Cato, which doesn't count.

One of the men, the one who looks to be in charge, cocks his head to the side. "You, ah, sure you know how to use that _spear_ of yours?" The others chortle as if he said something hilarious.

Marvel smiles, but it's not the goofy _Marvel_ smile that Finch likes. "Would you like to find out?"

The biggest of the lot, possibly taller and more muscular than even Thresh, steps forward threateningly. Marvel tenses, his grip tightening on his spear.

"Now, now, no need for that." The leader gestures for the giant to retreat. "We only wanted a friendly chat. It's not often that other people come into our neck of the woods."

"Just passing through," Marvel assures him. "In a few days, it'll be like we were never here at all."

"Ah, don't be like that. We don't usually get the chance to make new friends." The leader's widen, as if he's just remembered something. "Oh! I almost forgot. Speaking of friends, you don't by any chance know someone named Javi, do you?" Finch and Marvel are unable to hide their expressions of surprise. "Aha, so you do. He's in pretty bad shape right now. Good friends ought to come to our camp and make sure he'll be all right, don't you think?"

Based on what Finch learned about Javi during the few days he traveled with them, he seemed sincere in wanting to help them and keep them safe, undiscovered. So if these men know Javi's name and that he was traveling with them, they must have ambushed him somehow. And Finch doesn't doubt that Javi's supposed "bad shape" is due to these people.

She looks at Marvel, who's periodically glancing back at her while trying to keep an eye on the men surrounding them. Quickly, Finch goes through their options. If they say no, Finch doubts that these men will simply let them go on their way. There will be a clash, and she fears that she'll be a liability more than anything, holding Marvel back. If she had time to come up with a plan or set some traps, it'd be a whole different game, but alas, that isn't the case. If they try to make a run for it, they might be able to outrun them, or they might not. She honestly can't tell. And what if they end up leading these men to where the rest of the pack is camped out? There would be backup, but there's also the chance someone, maybe one of the younger kids, might get hurt in the crossfire.

And they would be abandoning Javi to these men's mercy. Even though they haven't known Javi long, even though Finch wouldn't call him a friend just yet, the idea of turning their backs on someone who helped them makes her feel a little sick. (Oh, how far she's come from only a few weeks ago, when she was prepared to do whatever it took to survive the Hunger Games.) But that's if these people are telling the truth and they really do have Javi. For all she knows, Javi may have escaped.

Or been killed.

If they agree to go with these men, Finch is absolutely certain that they'll be walking into some sort of trap. They want something from her and Marvel, and it probably has something to do with the pack. Finch can't think of anything else. Perhaps they want to separate the group, or use her and Marvel as bait. But why separate the group? Bait for what? If they knew Javi was traveling with them, then they were bound to have noticed their sled of supplies. Maybe that's what they want. Or if they've somehow gotten word about the hacked arena this year and pieced together that the pack are the tributes, so maybe they're hoping for some kind of reward if they turn the pack in.

Whatever the reason, it's important that she and Marvel don't give them the upper hand over the pack. Surely they know where the pack is camped out, if they've been watching them, but these thugs are vastly outnumbered. So they waited until they could catch someone who wandered away from the others: her and Marvel.

Finch can tell that they're expecting her and Marvel to run, Javi be damned. Based on how they're hands are hovering over their weapons, they're itching for an excuse to take the two of them down. That way they can drag her and Marvel to the pack and threaten their well-being if the others don't comply with what they want. What she and Marvel need to do is figure out a way to outsmart them, find an opportunity to escape or warn the others. What she and Marvel need to do is to get their guard down.

All these thoughts rapidly cycle through Finch's mind in a matter of seconds, no longer than a pause to allow the men's words to sink in. Once Finch reaches her conclusion, she lets her eyes widen as if astonished. "Javi? What's wrong with him?" she claims, sounding dismayed.

She can practically read their thoughts as she speaks. _Typical female. Hysterical woman. Dumb girl._ It's useful to be underestimated. It doesn't make her desire to kick their asses any less potent, but useful nonetheless.

"He's feeling under the weather," the leader laments. "I'm sure a friend or two would cheer him up."

Finch turns her wide-eyed, concerned stare to Marvel. "We have to make sure he's okay."

One look at him and she can tell that he's caught on to her act, more or less. And to her relief, he plays his part perfectly. "If you say so," Marvel mutters, sounding very reluctant. Him playing dumb and biddable won't help, since he's already lashed out against the thugs. But if Marvel can draw most of their attention and wariness, that gives Finch more freedom to maneuver.

"We'll take you to where Javi is resting up," the leader magnanimously offers. "Come, come. Let's not make him wait, hm?" So they all set off, and with that, their chosen course of action is set irrevocably in motion.

Finch does her best to memorize the route as they tromp through the undergrowth, silent except for the stomping of feet and birdsong, keeping track of how far and in which direction they are from camp. She doesn't know what she'll do with that information, since there's no way for her and Marvel to communicate to the others that there's trouble and they need reinforcements.

Or maybe there is a way.

As they hike through the woods, Finch's ears pick up on the surrounding birdsong. A glance up tells her that the source isn't commonplace songbirds but, as she hoped, mockingjays. Rue's four-note melody of alarm comes to mind. She taught that to them to use back when they were figuring out if they could recruit Javi's help, but if by some miracle the mockingjays carry the tune far enough to the right ears back at camp, someone might pick up on the underlying message: _S.O.S. S.O.S._ It's a long shot, but it's the best that Finch has got until she can think of something better.

Finch builds her way up to it. First, she hums the four notes under her breath, as if absentmindedly. She slowly turns up the volume, sneaking glances at their captors—because that's what they are in all honesty, for all that she and Marvel are walking free and unbound—to make sure no one seems suspicious or irritated. Gradually, the little tune becomes sufficiently loud that the nearest mockingjays start to echo it. And not a moment too soon, because the leader turns to look at her. "Hey. Little songbird. Keep it quieter, will you? Those birds are creeping me out."

She demurely does as commanded, falling silent. But inside, she's tamping down on the urge to dance for joy, because she can hear the mockingjays passing the melody farther and farther away, and in the right direction, too. Hopefully someone at camp will hear it. But in the meantime, Finch needs to come up with a backup plan.

Finally, they stop where the gang is evidently camped out. When they arrive, Finch instantly notices the three people there. One is a prone Javi, curled up on the ground. The second is a sour-looking man who looks like he's supposed to be watching Javi. And the last is practically a boy, gazing intently at the campfire as the smell of something burning fills the air.

The leader growls as he stalks forward. "You fucking idiot! Are you blind? Can't you tell our dinner is burning?" He grabs the silent, seated boy by the collar and shakes him roughly. "You can't even do this right. Useless!" He drops him on the ground and rounds on the other man. "And you! Lope! The hell were you doing, letting him fuck up like that?"

"Hey, I burn water. How was I supposed to know?" the sour-looking man protests.

"Idiots, both of you." The leader spits on the ground then jerks his thumb at Javi. "He still alive?"

"Still breathing."

The leader curses Lope before turning to Finch. "You, songbird. See to your friend, if you want him to live. I'm gonna chat with Mr. Spear over here."

Finch shares one last look with Marvel before she steps away from him. She makes sure to visibly cower beneath Lope's threatening gaze as she kneels beside Javi. She calls his name softly, and his eyes slowly peel open. "Finch?" he mumbles, recognizing her.

Her instincts to proceed efficiently, meticulously, and effectively, as usual, surge forward. But the feeling of Lope's stare is a constant reminder that she is acting the part of a fretful, somewhat hysterical girl. "Are you okay? What happened?" she cries with dismay, as her eyes quickly take in his visible injuries. Black eye, bloody nose, cuts along his arms, possibly broken fingers, and she suspects that if she lifts his shirt, she'll find a black and blue stomach.

Javi just groans in pain.

"Um…um…um… Can you follow my finger?" Finch asks tentatively. A few tests, and she is satisfied that he has no concussion or any other concerning head wounds. As she predicted, his stomach is so bruised that she can almost see the imprint of someone's shoe on his skin. Then Finch inspects the cuts on his arms more closely, and she realizes they have been methodically, almost expertly inflicted. She'd think they're in some sort of geometric pattern, almost, if she didn't know any better.

...Does she know any better?

She sneaks a look up and sees that Lope is more interested in watching Marvel's interactions with the others—so far they've managed to retain the illusion that they're having a friendly chat, but Finch can hear the underlying tension in Marvel's voice—than in watching her "amateurly" try to patch up Javi. "Javi," she whispers, "do you know who these people are?"

Javi licks his chapped lips. "Bandits. Live outside of the district. Everyone hates them, even Peacekeepers. Don't do anything but cause trouble. They show up sometimes around these parts. Bother people, steal things. I never ran into them before."

"What do they want?"

His eyes flicker toward Lope, who still pays them no heed. "Kept asking about you guys. Who you are. Why you're out here. Where you're going. Don't seem to know much about this year's Games. But they have an inkling about the rebellion. They noticed there are fewer herders passing by, and they sneak into small towns sometimes and noticed things were tense. I told them you ran from a rebelling district and you're hiding until the fighting's over."

"But they didn't...interview you just to satisfy their curiosity, did they?"

Javi looks queasy. "They… They've been out here for a long time. They were…looking for some entertainment. They're not nice. They..._liked _hurting me. I think they're trying to figure out how many of you they can grab. And...they're particularly interested in the girls."

Oh, great. Sexist, sadistic, _and _perverted. The whole package. "I see."

"And I think they said something about trading with other bandits when they're done."

Ah. Sexual slavery. Even better. And just how many bandits are there in Ten anyway?

"Hey. Ginger." Lope snaps his fingers to get her attention. "Make sure the idiot doesn't burn our dinner again."

Finch looks over and sees that the silent boy is starting on a new batch of meat. Probably squirrel. "I'm not done—"

"Is he dying?"

"No."

Lope points at the fire. Finch does her best not to sneer at him before joining the boy. She crouches beside him, but he gives no sign that he's noticed her or heard Lope's directive. "Let me help." She reaches for the spit, but he immediately shies away. Finch pauses. Is he deliberately giving her trouble? Does he want Lope to get mad at her? But as she studies his expression—he really is a boy, around her age—she sees no hint of malice or dislike. He just stares blankly at the flames as he holds up the spit, as if he's forgotten it's in his hand. She quickly notes his strong resemblance to the gang's leader—siblings? But the leader definitely wasn't treating him very nicely. Then again, Finch doubts anyone in this gang would treat anyone nicely.

The boy is rocking back and forth as he gazes at something in the trees. For a moment, instead of a tanned, gangly boy of sixteen, in her mind's eye, Finch sees a small, chubby eight-year-old with flaming red hair. _Oh._

Instincts that have lain dormant for years now stir. Without having to think about it, Finch's voice becomes softer and gentler. "My name is Finch," she says quietly. "What's yours?" She waits patiently, but he doesn't respond, just keeps rocking. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. "My name is Finch, like the bird. Have you ever seen a finch before? This is how you spell it." With a nearby stick, Finch writes the letters of her name in the dirt. "Finch. See?"

The boy looks fascinated at the squiggles in the ground. It occurs to Finch that he might not be able to read. The primary educational system in the Districts is supposed to ensure that everyone is literate, but who knows how long he's been out here? Is it possible that he's been tagging along with the bandit leader since early childhood, or even birth?

He picks up the stick she used to write her name, but all he does is hold it. Still, it means that he's put down the spit, and Finch quickly rescues it from the fire before the meat burns again. She's helped Vidal with dinner enough times that she feels confident roasting the meat. All the while, she watches the boy out of the corner of her eye. Soon, her fears of his possible illiteracy are washed away as he eventually touches the tip of the stick to the ground. In slow, messy strokes, he writes out three letters.

His name is similar enough to her brother's that she feels something catch in her throat, but she dismisses it. She can't afford to get distracted. "Teo. That's a nice name. I had a brother named Todd. You remind me of him."

Teo doesn't say anything in response, but Finch can feel the contentment radiating from him. She suspects that she might be the first person in a long time to show him a semblance of kindness. Possibly ever. They sit there in companionable silence as Finch's attention darts between watching the meat, glancing over at Javi, and worrying about Marvel as he and the bandit leader continue to trade thinly veiled jests. Marvel is very good at playing word games, but even he can't keep it up forever. Sooner or later the bandits are going to want to get down to business.

Finch observes the fire, noting that it isn't producing much smoke. That's a pity. Even if no one heard the mockingjay alarm, a trail of smoke above the treeline would tip off someone in the pack that they aren't alone in the woods. _Damp. I need damp firewood._ There's some extra beside the campfire, but a quick pat tells Finch that they're dry as bone.

"Teo?" she asks gently. "Do you know where I could get some water?"

Teo mindlessly taps the stick against the ground. Then, he abruptly points at the bandits' small stack of supplies, where Finch spots what may be a canteen or two.

"Thank you." Finch stands up.

"Where are you going, ginger?"

She turns to look at Lope, donning an expression of fearful meekness. "I-I wanted to get Javi s-s-some water."

He throws a dismissive glance at Javi and snorts. "Whatever. Dinner better not burn again while you're gone. You hear?"

Finch nods fervently and continues on her way. The first canteen is empty, but the second seems relatively full. She unscrews it, sniffs lightly, and wrinkles her nose. That water has been in there for a while. But if her plan works, it won't be in Javi's mouth for longer than a few seconds, so it should be fine. She returns to Javi's side. "Javi? Come sit with me by the fire. You need to drink something." She makes her voice as sickly sweet as she can, and Lope scoffs as she fawns and fusses over Javi. Moron. She sits Javi right next to the pile of firewood and holds up the canteen. "I'm going to give you some water, okay?" she says as her eyes flickers toward the firewood.

Javi blinks at her and nods. He makes a face as she pours the stagnant water into his mouth. After several fake gulps, he makes a show of spitting it out—straight onto the wood. Finch dramatically starts in surprise, and the rest of the water sloshes out of the canteen—also onto the wood. "Ugh!" Javi complains. "That's disgusting!"

"I'm sorry!" Finch squeals.

"Quit complaining!" Lope barks. Javi quiets down, but he continues to grimace, very genuinely. "Now get back here, pal. I don't want you trying to poison our food."

Oh, but Finch is incapable of it? If she had something on her person that could give the bandits at least a bad bellyache, she wouldn't hesitate to use it. Now, as Lope's suspicious attention is on Javi, Finch looks at Teo. "Don't you think the fire could use a bit more fuel?" Teo doesn't respond. "Yeah, me too." Finch takes some of the now damp firewood and feeds it to the campfire.

She finishes just as the bandits decide they're hungry. They barely wait for her to tell them the meat is ready—slightly undercooked, actually, but like she cares—before fighting for the pieces on the spit. The leader belatedly offers Finch and Marvel a bit, but they both decline. Finch thinks she might puke if she ate, anyway. Teo ends up with the scraps, and Finch has to consciously tamp down on her surging irritation at their mistreatment of him. As they eat, Finch is glad most of them have their backs turned on the fire, so no one notices as smoke starts to build up.

"So," the leader says as they all lick the grease from their fingers. He takes out a flask, unscrews it, and takes a sip before resuming. "As fun as it's been making small talk with you, pal, I'm getting real tired of you not answering my questions about your caravan of kids."

No more circling around each other. Going in for a direct hit. Is this the point where Marvel and the leader's clash of words turns physical? Finch hopes not. They're still outnumbered by the five others, excluding Teo. And Javi doesn't seem to be in any shape to help.

Marvel doesn't seem to like their odds, either. "Ask away, then."

"Why are a bunch of adolescents in the wilderness? You can't all be outlaws. Some of your lot are practically babies."

"Outlaws. Is that why _you_ lot are out here?"

The leader's smile is cutting. "Let's just say that we and Paneme law have some differences." He cocks his head to the side. "Now see here, no law-abiding citizen would dare venture past the district borders, so I'm pretty sure you all aren't very friendly with the establishment, either." He taps his chin. "There wouldn't by any chance be a nice, fat reward for turning you all in, would there?"

Marvel chuckles lightly. "Come on, buddy, you don't really think I would tell you if there was, do you? And if you guys are outlaws, the last thing you all probably want to do is to go up to the local Peacekeepers."

"You got a point, pal. Alright, then, tell me more about that caravan of yours. How many boys and girls you got there?"

Marvel's eyes narrow. "You mean you didn't keep count, buddy?"

"It's hard when you all are moving around all the time. Definitely got at least eight or nine of each, though. Sound about right to you?" The leader smirks. "You got a few scrawny tykes there with you. Can't be easy taking care of everyone. What say the two of our groups join up for a while? We'll all be real friendly and help each other."

The way he emphasizes "friendly" doesn't pass by Marvel unnoticed, even though Marvel didn't hear Javi's thoughts on what the bandits want with the pack. "That's real kind of you and all," Marvel says, mouth firmly downturned, "but we've already got such a big group that we really can't tack on any more people. We have a nice system going on and everything."

The leader stares at him. "Do you really think you're in a position to be saying no right now, pal?"

"Pretty sure I'm in a sitting up position right now."

_Marvel. Stop. Please. Stop._

For a moment, the leader gazes calmly at Marvel. Then, without looking away, he orders, "Lope, bring the girl over to me."

As Lope reaches for Finch's arm, Marvel's spear cuts through the air between them, coming dangerously close to stabbing Lope's hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The tension among them swells, threatening to explode with every twitch of a hand toward a weapon. Finch feels a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead.

Then a shrill whinny pierces the air, and everyone whirls around to see that Javi's horse, which had been docilely tied up to a tree, is now galloping through the camp toward them. Teo stands behind the horse, rope incriminatingly in his hand. The rest of them scatter to avoid the panicking beast.

Finch manages to stay on her feet in the chaos. Marvel catches her gaze as he tackles the bandit nearest her, who looked like he was about to grab her. "_Run!_"

Her feet instinctively carry her away, but after a few moments, she realizes he isn't following her. A look back tells her that someone has managed to pin Marvel down and wrestle his spear away. She turns back to face him, horrified, but then one of the bandits spots her and points.

"_Run!_" Marvel yells again, and he earns a kick to his stomach.

Lope starts after her, and Finch takes off. _Backup. I need backup._ She hears Lope's heavy footsteps behind her. Can she outrun him? Can she make it back to camp? _Run. Run. Run._

_ Marvel._

Finch has never been athletic, but she practically flies as she sprints. The dusk ensures that it's hard for Lope to keep an eye on her, but it also makes it more difficult for her to see where she's going. _Run. Run. Run._

_ Marvel._

At one point, she dares to look back, but she can't spot Lope in the growing darkness. Dare she hope that she's left him behind?

Then someone seizes her arm, and she opens her mouth to scream.

* * *

**Song lyrics quoted by Finch are from the folk song "Rocky Mountain," according to the Googly.**

* * *

**So yeah, school's been rough. But I'm hoping that, once I finish taking a BIGBIGBIG test this week, I'll a) be less stressed, b) have more time, and c) feel alive again. To celebrate the impending end of the test/my current biggest source of worry, I would like to offer my lovely readers the chance for an **_**EARLY UPDATE!**_** :) As most of you know, my plan this semester is to update every three weeks, but I'm considering bending that this once. It'll require a teeny bit of help from a lot of you guys, though.**

**Whenever I write a fanfic, it's my personal goal to try to average at least ten reviews per chapter by the time I finish the story. We're definitely not finishing Sweetest Mockery in the near future—as if it isn't long enough already—but I figured why not give it a shot now? So here's the deal: if we, by some miracle, hit 260 reviews (26 chapters x 10 reviews) within a week, I will update ONE WEEK from now. If we hit 234 reviews (26 x 9), I will update TWO WEEKS from now. Fewer than that and I'll just stick with my usual three weeks from now. We're currently at 212 reviews, so an update one week from now will require 48 reviews, and two weeks will require 22. The most reviews I've ever gotten on a single chapter was about 18, so pretty ambitious here if we want an update in one week. Two weeks, though? I think we can do it. ^_^**

**Of course, if the many followers on this story who don't usually review do review this time, then it'll be a piece of cake. *unsubtle hinthint* *unsubtle nudgenudge***

**I do love it whenever a review provides the opportunity to engage in a discussion about the story, Hunger Games in general, real life, anything, really, with you guys. But honestly, something as simple as "Keep up the good work" or even "Good luck on the test" would do WONDERS for me and my sanity during these last few days before I sit down for the exam. I probably can't reply to reviews before my test, but I promise that I do respond to **_**every**_** review that I receive within a week or two!**

**Anyway, that was my proposition for you all. Let's see how it goes! Also, I do keep track of reviews so that when I next have a oneshot contest, the odds are more favorable for those who have reviewed more—if that's any incentive for anybody.**

* * *

**As usual, if you review within a week, I'll send you a preview of the next chapter. (Unless we hit enough reviews for an update in one week. Then I'll give everyone the entire next chapter, which I think you guys would prefer.) Thanks for reading!**


	27. Chapter 27

**We did it! We hit the review count for a two-week update! Thank you so much, everybody. Life looks much better on this side of a big exam. :)**

**Thanks so much to martatheinvisiblegal, Swimming Trees, ForeverTeamEdward13, Randommmfanatic, theotherpianist, EarlGreyTea, Ro-Lee, Queen-Maggie-pevensie, TessStark, FwuffyUnicorn, Mely-the-Mockingjay, vampluver19, and MissVolturiKingsfan for reviewing!**

**Guest 1: I am the queen of cliffhangers. DESPAIR. :)**

**Guest 2: Thank you! I'm flattered. ^_^**

**Guest 3: I'm too lame for Ember to be my spirit animal. :P**

**Guest 4: If/when I write an original novel one day, will you read that too? XD Thank you so much!**

**Guest 5: Lots of people are hoping for that, methinks. ;)**

**Guest 6 and Guest 7: Thank you!**

**Guest 8: Aw, you're welcome! I know I hate it when a fanfic I'm really into stops updating, and I've had a bad habit of doing just that in the past, so I'm doing my best not to repeat that for Sweetest Mockery. :)**

* * *

Twenty-Seven:

I instantly recognize the four-note melody that the mockingjays are singing. The one Rue taught us, in case of alarm. Cato and I stare at each other. "I don't think anyone would have sung or whistled that for no reason," I mutter.

He nods. "We need to get out of this hole."

We scramble around the ravine, searching for some way to get up, any way. Marvel and Finch said we couldn't escape without help, but I doubt they had time to explore the ravine themselves before luring us in here. Surely it's not one hundred percent impossible.

Eventually, Cato and I migrate back to the ledge he tried climbing up earlier. "I think this is our best bet," he tells me, and I agree. Cato gives me a boost up, then I lend him a hand to join me. There's barely enough space for us on the ledge, and that's with us pressed closely together. Even though we're all business right now, I can't help the flare of heat that shows up whenever we're in such close proximity. I do my best to ignore it as Cato grabs my waist and bodily lifts me up so I can reach the top.

Barely. My fingers scrabble for a grip, and it takes all of the strength in my arms to hoist myself up, with more than a little of Cato's help pushing me up from below. Once I heave myself up onto proper ground, I dangle the upper half of my body over the edge so I can reach down again for Cato, so he can climb up as well.

Or at least, that's the intention. I'm not strong enough to pull him up.

"I can't," I finally admit after our sixth try.

Cato sighs, looking frustrated. "Go on without me. See what's going on."

"But you're—"

"I'll be fine. There's no time to waste, we have no idea what's happening. Just...be careful."

Our eyes meet. I bite my lip and nod. "I'll come back as soon as I can." I stand, and my next move is to figure out where the mockingjays came from. Even though it's dusk, I manage to make out a trail of smoke rising above the treeline. That's definitely not where camp is. Either someone in the pack is making a fire there for some reason, or we're not alone in these woods.

Alright. So do I go back to camp to get reinforcements, or do I go stake out the place and see what's going on? My gut, although its reliability has been questioned of late, tells me to go toward the fire. After one last glance at Cato still in the ravine, I dash off, hurrying toward the smoke as silently and unobtrusively as I can. As I hurry, I am reminded of the last time I ran through the woods alone: wrists handcuffed, far from any friendly faces, Alasdar on my heels. A frisson of fear ripples up my spine. _He's gone. He's dead. He's not here._ I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to run back to the ravine with Cato.

Someone might be in trouble. Someone might need me. I have to keep it together.

I'm so focused on staying quiet and beelining for my destination, on top of being preoccupied by my nerves, that I don't notice the others also creeping around silently and unobtrusively.

"Oof!" I stagger back from the collision, hand flying to one of my knives. Then I realize whom I ran into, literally. "Glimmer? Clove? What are you doing out here?"

Glimmer straightens. "Ember? How did you get out of the ravine?"

She was in on it? Traitor. "Glimmer, I have a lot to say to you guys about that stunt you pulled with me and Cato...but not now. Why are you here?"

"Marvel and Finch were taking their sweet time coming back to camp," Clove answers. "Thought they were off being lovebirds at first, until we heard the mockingjays."

"It sounded like Rue's tune," Glimmer chimes in. "We thought it was worth investigating."

I look at the trail of smoke. "So you don't know who's making that fire, either."

They shake their heads grimly. We're all about to troop forward, to where our friends may be with unknown parties, when we hear the sound of running approaching us. Quickly, we duck to the side, taking cover. I peer around my tree, and I realize I recognize that mass of red hair. Finch is running faster than I've ever seen her move, and part of me instinctively realizes she must be running _from_ something. So instead of shouting her name and potentially drawing unwanted attention, I reach out to grab her arm.

Finch's eyes bulge in panic. "_Finch!_" I hiss, and the half-formed scream dies in her throat.

To her credit, as soon as she recognizes me, she doesn't waste time blubbering or freaking out or asking pointless questions, like I might have. All she does is take a quick moment to collect herself before announcing, "Someone's coming after me."

Clove smiles ferally. "I've got this."

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. "It's kind of dark. Can you still aim?"

"I need a challenge once in a while. Finch, do I need to keep him alive?"

"Kill him," Finch answers without hesitation.

We wait a moment as heavy footsteps thunder toward us. (_It's not him. It's not him._) A man with a pinched face bursts into view. He takes one look at us and smirks. "Alright, girlies, no need to pani_erk_—" Clove's knife in his throat cuts him off mid-sentence.

Clove sighs as she goes to collect the blade. "That was lame."

I expel a breath that I didn't realize I was holding in, upon seeing the very dead body. He can't hurt Finch. He can't hurt anyone. He can't hurt me. "Is there anyone else?" I ask Finch.

"Not after me, I don't think. But there are more with Marvel and Javi."

Javi? What's he doing here? "How many more?"

"Four that we need to worry about. One's harmless."

Harmless? How? "What are they doing with Marvel and Javi?"

Finch's stoic expression crumples briefly, and that's all the answer we need.

Without further delay, we rush toward the campsite, following the smoke that Finch caused from their fire. As we get closer, we start hearing noises: unfamiliar men laughing and jeering, and someone crying out in pain.

"Marvel," Finch whispers. We pick up the pace.

Finally, we're close enough that we can hear what exactly the strange men are saying. It's not nice. Creeping forward, we peer into a campsite from our hidden position in the undergrowth. Marvel is lying on the ground, surrounded by the four men Finch mentioned. I can't see what they're doing to him—and Marvel's pained cries tell me that I probably don't want to know. I turn my gaze several feet over and spot Javi. He's lying worryingly still, next to a fifth person, a scrawny teen who I assume was the one Finch said not to worry about. The boy also looks kind of beaten up, and he's methodically petting a spooked-looking horse—Javi's horse, it looks like.

"Four total, excepting that boy by the horse," I say quietly. "If we don't count on Marvel and Javi being in any shape to help, then it's four versus four."

"Piece of cake," Clove remarks. "So what's the plan?"

I bite my lip. "We can take advantage of how they're all clustered together, and how they're...distracted." I have my blowgun, but it's dark enough that I'm afraid I might hit Marvel by accident. "Clove, how many can you take out from a distance before they realize something's wrong?"

"Depends on their reflexes. Definitely at least one, for sure."

So it'll be three versus four in close combat. Okay. Those are pretty good odds, even if Finch is a self-proclaimed poor fighter. "So the three of us will get to a closer position. Clove, as soon as we see you take down a guy, we're going in, then you come join us. Sound good?" Everyone nods. Glimmer, Finch, and I proceed forward, inching forward to a more ideal place.

We've just settled into position, waiting to pounce, when something glinting shoots through the air and straight into the eye of the man who was about to cut into Marvel with his own knife. As the other thugs gape in shock, we lunge.

Glimmer swings her machete, and her target staggers backward as he barely manages to dodge. Another one of them sees me coming and brandishes Marvel's spear threateningly. Luckily for me, I've sparred with Marvel a few times, so besides picking up a few tips on how to use a spear, I've also practiced how to go up against one in a fight. And this guy is nowhere near as good as Marvel—but I guess he makes up for it in willingness to actually do harm to me.

I duck his first swipe and attempt to go in for the kill, but he twists at the last minute, so my knife only makes a gash in his side instead of a critical wound. Still, it seems to make him a little upset, because next he roars loudly—is that supposed to scare me?—and attacks again. Again I dodge, and this time I manage to slice his arm. Next thing I know, he's screaming shrilly, and I see Finch behind him, roughly pressing the hot end of one of the sticks from the campfire into the back of his neck. I take advantage of the opportunity, and down he goes.

Meanwhile, Clove is facing off with the biggest guy of the bunch. Her petite size makes the scene look almost comical. She takes a few steps backwards, and he sneers. "That's right, you should be—" He yelps as he throws himself to the side, her knife creating a deep gash in his arm. Glimmer's waiting for him, and a few hacks later, he's down for good.

Then I remember the boy, still sitting by the campfire.

Finch follows my gaze and throws out her arm to stop me. "Not him."

"How do you know he's not a threat?"

"Trust me," she says quietly.

Finch is not the kind of person who lets her guard down easily. If she says to trust him, then I suppose she must be very sure. I nod slowly. "If you say so." Then we hear Glimmer calling out Marvel's name, worry and panic coloring her voice, and we spin around, running to join her and Clove.

* * *

"_RASHTON!_"

"Oh my God, what now?"

"I almost tripped over this—this—whatever it is you left on the floor."

"Okay, I'm sorry! I forgot to put it away, alright? Geeze!"

"You can't just forget these things, Ash! If I hadn't caught myself in time, I could have gotten seriously hurt! Your _niece_ could have gotten seriously hurt."

"I know, I know, I know, I said I was sorry, _God._ You're such a nag."

"I wouldn't have to nag if you just put your damn stuff away. For someone who claims to have a perfect memory, you seem to 'forget' a lot of things when it's convenient for you."

"Argh! What more do you want, No-Brain? I apologized, I put the books away. What do you want from me?"

"You know," comes their father's voice from the doorway, "I almost preferred it when you two weren't talking to each other because you were on opposite sides of the country. Lorraine, your brother apologized, so stop. Ashton, don't be an idiot next time and put your shit where she can't trip over it."

"Daddy, you said a bad word!" Summer squeals.

"Uh. Shh. Don't tell your mother. As for you two…" Haymitch rounds on them. "Behave. I almost forgot how the pair of you could make Ember and Cedric's worst fights seem like polite disagreements."

"He started it."

"She started it."

Rain can hear their father sighing. "You'd think they were twelve, not twenty-two," he mutters to himself. "Alright, kids. I'm going to take Summer with me while I take care of some errands. When I come back, I expect to find this unit exactly as I left it. That means nothing broken, nothing ripped, nothing set on fire, nothing chopped in half by an axe, or anything that falls in between any of those things. Got it?"

"Got it, Dad," Rain and her twin mumble.

"You'd better," Haymitch grumbles. "I swear I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Daddy! You said—"

"Summer, I will get you one of Mr. Mellark's cupcakes if you promise not to tell your mother about this."

"I didn't hear you say anything, Daddy."

"That's my girl."

"What about us, Dad?" Ash asks cheekily. "Do we get cupcakes too if we don't tell Mom?"

"Haha, you're funny. Let's go, Summer. Ash, be nice to your sister. Rain, don't bully your brother."

"Dad, I was serious about the cupcake thing." The door closes behind their father and little sister. Ashton exhales and flops onto the couch beside Rain. She can practically hear him pouting as he grouses, "But I want a cupcake too."

"You're getting fat." Rain strikes out where she anticipates his belly to be and is satisfied when her hand smacks his tummy.

"Ow! Am not. I have abs of steel."

"Yeah. Steel wool, you mean."

"Ugh. Some things never change." Ash wriggles over to Rain's lap and speaks to her protruding stomach. "Did you hear that, Silly? Your mother is so mean."

"I told you, Rashton, you are _not_ calling my daughter 'Silly.'"

"It's a good thing Uncle Ash is here," he continues, ignoring her. "Don't worry, I'll make sure your mommy's bad habits don't rub off on you."

"I will file a restraining order against you."

"See? So mean." Ashton sits back up again and cracks his knuckles. "Alright, somehow you've talked me into being your eyes today, No-Brain. What kind of menial labor do you have prepared for me?"

Rain gestures in the general direction of the coffee table. "There's a tablet that Plutarch gave me. I need you to read aloud some things to me."

"Okay. Just to let you know, I charge per word." Ashton ducks her swat and picks up the tablet. "So what are you reading? What am I looking for?"

"Apparently, Mom, Dad, and Plutarch talked up my ability to contribute to the rebellion during one of the most recent meetings. So now I'm supposed to 'think like a Gamemaker' and help come up with combat strategies for the next fight in one of the Districts."

"Think like a Gamemaker? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Treat Peacekeepers like tributes, figure out how to draw them into traps, that sort of thing, I suppose."

"Uh. That sounds like something anyone with the right military background, or even the right brains, can do. Why do you have to do it?"

"I think they want to make me feel useful. That, or Coin probably said something to rile them up and make them feel compelled to come to my defense." Rain shrugs. "It'll keep me occupied, at least."

"If you say so. What's the file name?"

Soon enough, it starts to feel less like busy work and more like actual intellectual stimulation and entertainment, as Rain and her brother debate, argue, and hypothesize. "Any sort of firefight in Twelve would be a huge risk to all parties involved. It's covered in coal dust. It'd go ablaze in minutes."

"Especially the Seam," Ashton agrees. "It's closest to the mines, and it's got all the miners coming in and out. Not to mention all those shacks that the Capitol calls houses are filled with coal dust themselves, and all squished up together. The town would be better, less dust and more space, and it's also where the Peacekeepers are stationed. If Thirteen attempted any attacks, it'd be there. Honestly the safest place in the district is the Victors' Village, as long as you can live with all the bugs and listening devices."

"Not just safest from a fire hazard, either. You know that iron fence that goes around the whole place. It doesn't make the place a fortress, but if you shore up the gates and, say, top it all off with some barbed wire, it could be a pretty defensible place."

"Not from an air attack," Ashton interjects.

Rain taps her chin. "Actually, I've picked up on a few bits of information here and there in the Capitol. Supposedly, all of the Victors' Villages in every District are built on top of bunkers from the Dark Days. They were sealed up decades ago, but if you can open them up, they're supposed to be able to withstand even nuclear attacks."

"Bullshit. We explored every inch of the Village when we were kids and we never found anything like that."

Rain intends to point dramatically at her brother but ends up accidentally poking him hard in the shoulder instead. She ignores his plaintive "ow" and reminds him, "Every inch except Alasdar's place."

Ashton's voice darkens as he mutters, "You mean Crazy Old Bastard. Right." No doubt he, like Rain, is unwillingly remembering the unnerving Victor who made them extremely skittish whenever he was in sight, during their first six years of life. Rain cringes as she recalls the explosive last time that they ever saw Alasdar. Some things are better left forgotten.

"Even after he disappeared, we never dared to go near his yard, let alone his house," Rain says quietly. "Unless there was an entire layer of soil and grass laid on top of the entrance, or unless it's hidden beneath the basement of one of the empty houses, I bet the bunker entrance is somewhere on his property."

"...Alright. I believe you. Anyway," Ash says, changing the subject, "how do you know about the bunkers in the first place? Shouldn't Plutarch have mentioned something about this? I don't see anything about bunkers in the notes."

"It was rumors, the kind you hear during cocktail parties. If Plutarch doesn't know, it's probably because he can't properly bat his eyelashes and look coquettish."

Ashton gags. "_Please_ do not ever put an image like that in my head again. Wait—are you saying that's what _you_ did?"

"I think we're done with District 12," Rain says airily. "Let's move onto another one. How about...Two?"

"Maneater," her brother mumbles as he changes files.

"_What did you just call me?_"

Several minutes later, Ash begs for mercy. "Geeze, for someone who can't see, you're pretty deadly with those nails of yours," he grumbles as he searches for District 2's information.

"I was always better when Mom and Dad trained us."

"If you were, it's only because you play dirty. Okay, found it. Doo-doo-doo…" Ash hums as he quickly scans the index. "Did you want to start with basic info, demographics, geography—"

"No, I've already got that kind of data down. Is there a section on recent news? Stuff that's been happening since the Cornucopia?"

"Yuppers. Let's see, noticeable _lack_ of rebel activity, increased Peacekeeper Academy activity, and—oh."

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Let's just skip the—"

"Ash," Rain says quietly. "Please don't hide things from me. If you're being my eyes, I need to know everything you're seeing. It's not fair otherwise."

She hears him exhale. "Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry." He clears his throat. "There is...a section about the fire-bombs in the woods."

"...Oh." Rain swallows. Ever since she arrived at Thirteen, no one around her has brought up the topic of the bombs, or the Tributes, or the missing Abernathy children. The last time she talked or heard about it was when Seneca brought the news to her in her cell. She's had ample time to brood over the massacre, to traumatize herself with imaginings of what her sister and brother's final moments must have been like.

"Do you still want to talk about it?" Ashton prods gently.

She clenches her fists in her lap. "It's important. Please read it out loud."

Ash is quiet for a moment. "Okay," he finally says. Then he begins to read.

Rain sits still as Ashton stoically narrates the events of that afternoon, in as much detail as Thirteen's agents were able to gather. The date, the time, the estimated coordinates where the Capitol dropped each bomb, the affected radius. When her brother stops, Rain frowns. "You can continue."

"That's it."

"That's it?"

"There's nothing else."

"But…" Rain's brow furrows. "So no one attempted to retrieve the bodies?"

"No. It's far too close to Two, which is very Capitol-friendly, and far too close to the Capitol itself as well. I doubt Thirteen wanted to risk losing a hovercraft and its crew in case of an attack."

"I guess that makes sense tactically," Rain allows. "Do they… Do they have any guesses where Em—where the tributes may have been when they—at that time?"

"Ah… Best guess, based on estimated speed of travel: 45.22 degrees north, 112.64 degrees west. If that means anything to you. Bit north of Two, bit west of Five."

Rain might no longer have her eyes, but she can still see, in a manner of speaking. She conjures up a map of Panem in her mind—Ash's memory might be better than hers, but hers is still pretty damn good—and focuses on the region of Districts 2 and 5. "Would that have been in the center of the Capitol's fire-bombs?"

"Hm, looks a little bit to the side, along the edge-ish."

"If my memory serves me right, is there by any chance a river somewhere in the area?"

"Indeed there is."

Rain drums her fingers against her lips. "Ash, if you were caught in the middle of a fire-bombing or firestorm, what would be your first instinct?"

"Run away, obviously. If there's no obvious escape route, seek shelter. Preferably somewhere wet, or at least non-flammable. The tributes probably tried to head for the river, is that what you're saying?"

She presses her fingers to her temple. In her mind's eye, she sees Ember, Cedric, and a dozen other faceless children fleeing from the Capitol's bombs. She sees them instinctively heading for the river, what seems to be their best chances of protection against fire. She sees the Capitol pilots lazily depositing the last of their explosives, unable to target anyone through the cover of trees and smoke and flames. She does not see Peacekeepers combing the area in the aftermath for survivors. Rain takes a deep calming breath and tries to stop her voice from shaking. "Ash, call me crazy, but...don't you think, just maybe, there's a chance at least some of the tributes might have survived?"

* * *

Marvel is jolted awake. The first thing he realizes as he blearily blinks his eyes open is that his head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. The second thing he realizes is that his face hurts like a bitch. So do other parts of his body, but not as much. And after a moment, he realizes he's lying down on the sled. That would explain why he's moving. He eases himself up to a sitting position, cringing at the ache piercing his abdomen. It feels like someone kicked him in the stomach.

Well, now that he thinks about it…

"He's awake!" he hears someone, probably one of the sled pushers, call out. "Get Finch." Then there's the sound of running footsteps as somebody obeys.

Marvel intends to ask "What's going on?" but what ends up coming out of his mouth is a slurred verbal mess. That, combined with the fuzziness swarming his head, leads him to the suspicion that someone must have drugged him with sleeping syrup or some other sedative.

It isn't until a pale face framed by flaming red hair appears above him that Marvel realizes the entire pack has stopped moving. All for him? They shouldn't have. He tries to greet Finch, but all he's able to produce is an eloquent "_Hhhnnnn._"

"Don't try to talk just yet. I had to give you a lot of sleeping syrup, but it should wear off soon," she says quietly as she offers him some water. He gladly accepts it, allowing her to place the canteen at his lips. "Just nod or shake your head. Are you in any pain?"

A definitive nod.

"Is it mostly in your face?"

Another nod.

"Anywhere else?"

He gestures at his abdomen.

"On a scale from one to ten, with one being normal and ten being agonizing, how bad is the overall pain? Hold up your fingers."

Marvel thinks about it, then holds up one entire hand.

"Okay. Can you try talking again?"

He eases himself up into a sitting position. "_Wha_—" Well, that was an unpleasant croak. He clears his throat and tries again, head still swimming. "What happened?"

Finch looks distinctly uncomfortable, enough to make Marvel quickly take stock of all his body parts. He doesn't _think_ anything is missing. Before he can try to cajole Finch into speaking, Cato and Ember appear. Not together, though. "Are you okay?" Ember asks.

"It feels like the aftermath of a brutal day of training. Parts of me hurt like hell, but I'm still breathing." And honestly, the pain, while very much present, is tolerable. So why is Finch trying to look anywhere but at him?

Cato snorts. "That's all? Then you can walk after break is over."

Ember smacks his arm without looking at him. "Finch, how is he?"

"He'll be okay," the redhead says softly.

"Have you… Have you told him…?"

Finch shakes her head.

Marvel looks between them. "Have you told me what?"

"In a second," Finch murmurs, twisting her hands.

"We'll leave you two be, then," Ember says, and she leaves. Cato starts to follow a moment later.

As Marvel glances at them, a faint memory of her, Glimmer, Finch, and Clove rushing into the bandits' camp comes to memory. "Wait, so did you two make up? How did you get out of the ravine?" Hm. Cato wasn't at the bandits' camp. "Or were you still stuck?" he teases.

"None of your business, no thanks to you, and up yours," Cato says irritably. "When you're back on your feet, you're so getting it."

Marvel pretends to shudder. "Ooh. I'm so scared."

"You should be." Cato throws one last glare at him over his shoulder as he walks away.

Grinning to himself, Marvel asks Finch, "So _did _they make up, do you know?"

"They _said_ they're working it out."

"Then...you don't believe they actually _are?_" Marvel sighs. All that work for nothing. Then he furrows his brow, head still fuzzy. "How long was I out for?"

"About sixteen hours. I gave you the sleeping syrup soon after we came back to camp last night. It's around noon right now."

Marvel looks Finch in the eye. "So...what is this _thing_ that you're supposed to be telling me?"

Finch is naturally pale—comes with the territory of being a redhead—but if possible, her face grows even whiter. Marvel _knows_ she doesn't want to say what she's about to say, so he commends her when her voice comes out deceptively calm and even. "What do you remember from last night? Do you remember what happened with the horse?"

Marvel shakes away the remaining fog from the sleeping syrup. "Yeah. The horse. That kid with the bandits did something." He frowns. "Where is that kid anyway? And Javi?"

"They took Javi's horse to the ranch he was supposed to be at already. Javi said he'll come up with a good story."

He nods slowly. "So that kid…" Marvel was too preoccupied by the other five to pay him much mind, but he did notice that Finch seemed to get along with him.

"He didn't do anything wrong. He helped us," Finch says softly. "Javi will make sure they take care of him."

"Okay. That's good." Marvel taps his fingers on his thigh. "So, kid. Horse. All hell broke loose. You ran. Then they...uh...well, let's say they weren't very friendly toward me." He remembers a few kicks to his stomach, a few hits to his face, quite a bit of knife work—

His hand flies up to his face. He's relieved to find that his nose hasn't been sliced off or anything like that. But now he notices, for the first time since he woke up, as his senses finally break free of all the sleeping syrup he's been drugged up with, the swaths of gauze on his face. Cheeks, forehead, chin, everywhere. He must look like a mummy right now. "How bad is it?"

Finch casts her eyes down. "It'll scar."

Two of the bandits, the ones who must have been twins, smirk in his memory as their knives fly closer. Marvel takes a breath. "Let me guess, it's not going to be just a few faint cuts here and there."

"It's going to be...eye-catching."

"...Oh," Marvel says quietly.

The truth is, Marvel is a rather vain creature. Everywhere in District 1, it's all about appearances, appearances, appearances. Especially at the Academy for Careers, where they're supposed to make themselves marketable to a Capitol audience. That's never been too hard for Marvel, who is, in all honesty, pretty good-looking. He doesn't waste time on his hair and clothes in the morning (well, obviously not _now,_ in the middle of the wilderness) like some other guys he knew back home, but in general he's pleased with what he sees in the mirror. If Finch said it'd only be a few scars, he could've dismissed it fairly easily; scars make you look rugged, if you can pull it off.

But if Finch, who isn't exactly prone to exaggeration, says it's going to be _eye-catching_ with that kind of look on her face, it's probably on the wrong side of rugged.

He carefully touches the gauze covering up his face. Right now, he can pretend that everything's fine. The cuts underneath will heal, and all will be back to normal. But once those bandages come off, the fact is he doesn't think he's going to want to look at his reflection for a while. Not a hard task in the wilderness, unless he purposely goes hunting for one of those mirrors in their supplies. But he won't need a mirror to tell him that his face has become...unpleasant. Not when he'll have the pack's reactions to tell him.

Marvel is so busy throwing a pity party for himself that he barely realizes Finch has said something. Once her words register, he looks up sharply. "Why are you sorry?"

Finch twists her hands. "When Teo set the horse loose, you took down that guy so I could get away when you could have run yourself. If I were a better fighter, I might have been able to help you escape too. And this wouldn't have happened."

All valid points. And if it were anyone besides Finch, Marvel may have felt somewhat resentful at the turn of events. But not Finch. It's...different with Finch. "Did you cut my face?"

She looks appalled. "I—_no!_ Of course not!"

"Then don't apologize, and don't blame yourself," he says, a bit more curtly than he intends. "There's no point wondering about hypothetical, what-if situations where you might have been more combative. And I'm offended if you think I would have left you behind if I'd known this would happen."

Finch still looks paler than normal. "I guess…"

Marvel peers at her carefully. "Did you get hurt last night? At all?" She shakes her head. "Then it was worth it," he concludes, and he realizes it's the honest truth. _Better me than her._ "So, end of story. Yeah."

"Okay." Finch slowly gets to her feet, then seems to muster the courage for something. "Marvel, the—the important thing is that you'll be fine. And it doesn't matter if your face will look different because that's not what makes you _you._ As long… As long as you keep smiling and telling stupid jokes and being Dr. Marvel, everything will be okay." Quickly, as if determined to do it before she changes her mind, Finch darts forward and lightly kisses his forehead, in one of the few patches of unaffected skin on his face. Then she takes off to the other end of the pack before he can react.

His skin tingles where her lips were so briefly touching. Marvel stares wide-eyed in her wake, making sure that it's not the sleeping syrup still talking but that it actually happened. Slowly, a smile quirks up his mouth.

He senses someone watching him and turns to look at Glimmer, who has an eyebrow raised, having been witness to the tail end of his and Finch's exchange. Marvel grins—probably a little dopily. "Hey, Glimmer."

"You're so lame." She tosses him some food. As she leaves, she adds over her shoulder, "You'll be lamer if you let this opportunity pass by."

Marvel's gaze shifts over to the front of the pack, where he thinks he glimpses some bright red hair. Any sullen thoughts about his face's prospects are temporarily forgotten as he is wholly distracted by the light, fuzzy warmth swelling in his chest.

* * *

**Once again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and had a kind word to share about this story and/or my then-upcoming test. :3**

**Sadly, Real Life is still keeping me busy even with my big test out of the way, so I'll probably have to go back to the three-week updating schedule. However, like I've said, I write more and faster when I get feedback from you guys, so who knows, I might surprise you all with a few early updates here and there if I get the motivation for it. ^_^**

**Also, like I said last time, I have a personal goal with every multi-chapter fic that I write to eventually average ten reviews per chapter. I'm thinking that I might hold the next oneshot contest when we get to that ten reviews per chapter mark, whatever it might be. (Ex. 270 total at Chapter 27, 280 at Chapter 28, and so on.) And I keep track of reviews so that frequent reviewers get a bit of a boost during the oneshot drawing, so it never hurts to review. :)**

**Thanks for reading, and as always, if you review within a week, I'll send you a preview of the next chapter!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Thanks very much to ForeverTeamEdward13, MissVolturiKingsfan, Randommmfanatic, martatheinvisiblegal, Ro-Lee, FwuffyUnicorn, theotherpianist, Queen-Maggie-pevensie, and vampluver19 for reviewing!**

**Guest: For the longest time I couldn't figure out what to do with Ash and Rain when they finally met up again. I ended up deciding that since there are enough messed up familial relationships in this story already, I should just make them normal, squabbling siblings. :) Oh gosh, you read my old stuff? I'm afraid to look at anything I wrote older than three years ago, haha. But glad you like them anyway!**

* * *

Twenty-Eight:

Ashton opens the door to Madge and Peeta's smiling faces, and Katniss and Gale's frowning ones. "Hey kiddos, C'mon in." He ushers them into the apartment, where Rain, Finnick, Annie, Johanna, Cinna, and Portia are already congregated around the dining table.

The four teenagers blink at the semi-organized mess scattered around the unit. "Is this what wedding preparations look like?" Madge queries tentatively.

Katniss's scowl deepens as she crosses her arms. "I'm warning you right now, I'm likelier to slow you all down than to help, so I'm not sure why I'm here."

"Same," Gale agrees.

"Ah, don't be like that," Peeta says cheerfully. "There's always something anyone can do to help out."

Ashton likes Peeta. Always has. Much more polite and sincere than his brat of an older brother who mooned over Emmy all the time. "That's the can-do attitude I'm looking for, Peeta."

"As if you weren't complaining five minutes ago about all the work being unloaded on you," Rain cuts in from her seat on the sofa. She's helping to assemble table centerpieces, using only her sense of touch and Annie's occasional input, and doing a rather admirable job of it.

Gale's impressive eyebrows are drawn together in disgruntlement. "I thought Finnick and Annie's wedding was supposed to be for a propo, so Thirteen was going to chip in resources and labor. Why are you guys doing the work?"

"I wanted to have a hand in _something_ for my own wedding," Annie answers as she scribbles on a notepad. "It feels more personal than just handing it off to a TV crew."

"So...what can we do to help?" Madge asks uncertainly.

"Let's see." Portia pulls out a list. "Peeta, you're a baker, aren't you? Finnick and Annie were wondering if you could make the cake."

"Me? Um. Yeah! Of course!"

"Excellent. Annie has some notes on what they would like, if possible, if you could take a look. Katniss, Gale, could you help Rain with the centerpieces?"

The two look at the heaps of seashells, marbles, and fake flowers on the table. Katniss raises her eyebrows. "Do we just dump them all into the bowls? Looks simple enough."

Rain shakes her head vehemently. "No, no, no. Come here, I'll show you."

Portia continues, "Madge, you play piano, correct?" The blonde nods. "Would you mind providing some of the music at the ceremony, along with Ashton?"

"Oh! Sure—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa._" Ashton holds up his hands. "What do you mean, 'along with Ashton'? This is completely news to me."

Finnick grins deviously. Ashton narrows his eyes as the Victor from Four says, "Well, Abernathy, we obviously mean that Annie and I would be oh-so-honored if we were accompanied on our special day by musical accompaniment from Madge here on the piano, and from you on the guitar. Oh, and you'd sing too, of course."

Ashton's eye twitches. "You—we—I never agreed to this!"

"But you sing so prettily!" Finnick clasps his hands together, a fawning expression on his face. "I heard you a couple times back when we were younger, remember? It was as if the heavens themselves were singing." He sighs dramatically, like one of his lovesick Capitol fangirls.

Ashton's fingers flex as he imagines Finnick's neck between them.

Johanna thumps Finnick's shoulder. "Sounds like the wedding ought to be between you and him, not you and Annie."

"Eh." Finnick makes a face. "Just his voice. I don't want the whole package."

Ashton scoops up a clump of fake flowers and throws them at his head. "Hey. Odair. Trust me, you don't want me providing musical anything at your wedding. The only thing I've sung in the better part of a decade were some drinking songs while I was drunk—"

"When else would you sing drinking songs?" Johanna chimes in.

"—and I haven't touched a guitar since Summer was born." Ashton waves his hands frantically. "Speaking of, I don't even have a guitar! So there."

"Plutarch says there are a few guitars in storage along with the piano Madge will use," Rain says serenely as she finishes another centerpiece. Hers all look much better than Katniss and Gale's, and they have four eyes between the two of them.

Ash points at his twin, even though she can't see the gesture. "You. Not helping."

"Oh, no, she's being very helpful," Finnick interjects. "Come oooonnnnn, Abernathy. For me? Your best friend?"

"I'm even less inclined to do it _because_ it's you."

"Please, Ashton?" Annie gazes at him with big pleading eyes. "It would mean so much to us. You're like family to Finnick."

_Goddammit._ "I...I don't even know what to sing. _If _I did it."

"What about that lullaby that Aunt Maysilee used to sing to you all when we were little?" Madge suggests. "The one she chose your names from."

Ashton shakes his head. "That's a sad song, Madgie. Not really wedding material."

"A lot of traditional songs from Twelve are sad," Katniss comments as she tries to copy Rain's centerpieces.

"Oh!" Peeta looks up brightly. "Katniss, why don't you sing t—"

"_Be quiet, Peeta._"

"Pick a District 4 song," Gale grouses as he half-heartedly drops some shells in a bowl. "It's going to be a Four-themed wedding, right?"

Annie's eyes light up. "Oh! I know just the song."

Ashton tries to stifle a groan. He hasn't technically agreed to anything yet, but how can he say no now that Annie's so excited? Finnick can go screw himself, but it's Annie's day, too. "If the wedding guests all go deaf afterwards, don't say I didn't warn you." _And they'll be filming for the propo. Great…_

Madge clasps her hands together. "So, should I go look for this piano and practice, then?"

"Not yet," Rain replies, her amused expression fading. "We have some serious business to discuss, and you all must promise that what we discuss in this room does not leave it. I needed an excuse to gather all of us together without anyone getting suspicious."

Gale immediately puts down the centerpiece materials. "All these 'wedding preparations' are just a cover? Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Johanna chucks a marble at his forehead. "Keep working, runt. We're multitasking."

Peeta pauses muttering about different types of frosting. "What's so important?"

Rain sets aside her current centerpiece. "After reviewing the evidence," she says quietly, "I have come to the conclusion that there is a good chance some of the tributes of this year's Games survived."

Katniss drops a bowl. Miraculously, nothing breaks, but its contents are strewn across the floor. "...Are you joking?" Everyone else is silent: Madge, Gale, and Peeta in shock like Katniss, and the others, who have all been previously briefed, in solemnity.

"I am not," Rain insists. Ashton goes to pick up the spilled seashells and marbles; he was there when Rain first had her epiphany, so he doesn't need to hear it again.

Madge sinks onto a chair. "But...everyone said no one could have survived those fire-bombs."

"No one bothered to check. Thirteen didn't send anyone into the area, and there's no evidence that the Capitol did, either."

Gale isn't even pretending to work on the centerpieces anymore. "But they were fire-bombs. The target radius was massive."

"It's because the radius was so large that I've become convinced that their chances of survival were better," Rain says. "Instead of concentrating their hovercrafts and ensuring that everything in the area would absolutely be destroyed, the Capitol spread them out. And when you're spread out, you leave holes. Patches here and there where the ground may have been completely untouched."

The page in Peeta's hand crinkles in his shaking hand. "So if they are alive...what do we do?"

Rain folds her hands. Ash can tell that she's trying not to shake or let her nerves otherwise show. "In the near future, not much. Even if everything went well for them after the fire-bombs, they would still be a distance away from where we could help them without District 13's official support."

Gale frowns. "Why can't we have their official support?"

"Because Coin is a c—bitch," Ashton amends at the last second, handing Katniss the gathered centerpiece bits. "If we tell this to Coin, she'll call it far-fetched and a 'waste of resources' and an 'unnecessary risk' again. _And_ she'll be on her guard to make sure we don't take things into our own hands. So it's best if we don't get her guard up in the first place."

"Then what _is_ the plan?" Madge asks.

Rain holds up her tablet. Without waiting for her to ask, Ashton takes it and pulls up a map of the northeast corner of Panem. "In about two weeks is the earliest possible time that any surviving tributes would make it to the vicinity of District 12. At that time, Ashton, Johanna, and Finnick will discreetly leave to camp out in the woods outside of Twelve and patrol the area for any signs of them. If they see or meet the tributes, they'll radio back here, and Coin will have no choice but to send a hovercraft."

Peeta rubs his chin. "How are they going to leave Thirteen without attracting notice?"

"I know a hovercraft pilot," Rain says airily. Beside her, Cinna coughs. "He'll fly them out. But he won't be able to stay. A hovercraft is much easier for Capitol scouts to spot than a few humans."

"And...they're just going to stay there indefinitely?" Gale prods. "What happens if...if no tributes show up, because they did...you know…"

Rain swallows, paler than usual. "If after four weeks they still haven't shown up, they probably won't ever show up. The three of them will return at that point."

"Four of us." Katniss shoves aside the centerpieces. "I'm coming with."

"Make that five," Gale adds.

"I don't think so." Ashton frowns at them. "There are reports of increased Peacekeeper activity in Twelve. It's too risky."

"But not for you three?" Katniss snaps.

"We're adults. You're kids."

"We still know the woods better than any of you," Gale argues.

"Excuse me?" Ashton sputters. "I've been going into those woods since before either of you were born—"

"When's the last time you went there sober?" Katniss looks smug when Ashton can't answer.

Johanna sighs. "Oh, let them come. They're as good as adults, anyway."

Rain looks displeased. "Your parents won't be happy if we let you do this," she warns Katniss and Gale. "It really might be dangerous."

"It's Ember and Cedric," Katniss says quietly. "How can we not?"

Ashton looks down, trying not to remember Katniss and Gale as little kids playing tag with Emmy. _Emmy and Ceddy._ He would do anything for them. Why not Katniss and Gale too? And Katniss has a point: he hasn't been in the woods all that much since he really got into hard drugs. Johanna, from Seven, is familiar with forest environments, but not Twelve's. And Finnick will be as useful as a fish on dry land.

"A few extra hands would make a huge difference, wouldn't they?" Cinna adds gently.

Instinctively, Rain turns her head in Ash's direction, as if to silently communicate with him like they used to when they were younger. But it doesn't work as well if one of them can't see. She huffs a bit in frustration. "We'll think about it," she concedes.

"Speaking of parents," Madge pipes up, "what do Aunt Maysilee and Uncle Haymitch think about all this?"

"Nothing," Ashton responds as he peers over Cinna's shoulder to peek at his design of Annie's wedding dress. "They don't know."

"Coin watches them the most closely," Rain explains. "They can act and lie better than practically anyone, but they already have so much to worry about. And if I'm wrong about this, I don't want to get their hopes up."

"What else can we do?" Peeta asks. "Madge and I, we're not woodsy people."

"Cover for us as long as you can." Ashton makes a face at one of Gale's attempts at a centerpiece. "Especially during our escape. We don't want our secret mission cut off prematurely."

"And play dumb as long as possible afterwards." Rain bites her lip. "We don't want anyone else finding out about this, for as long as possible. If someone helps me, I can rig up a program to trick the machine that makes up everyone's schedules so it doesn't realize you guys have failed to get yours. Our families will have to be told, since they'll notice soon enough you're all absent, but they can help cover once they know. Say Ash is sick if someone asks why he hasn't been seen for a while, for example. But that'll be hard to keep up for four weeks, and if Coin finds out, she'll be asking us first why they're in Twelve."

"And we want to hold off Coin from finding out anything as long as we can," Ashton adds. "She probably won't go as far as dragging us back here—compromised airspace and all that—but she'll make life difficult for those of you staying behind. She might even throw words like 'treason' around, but don't believe her bullshit. And Mom and Dad will stand up for you all, even though they'll have been in the dark."

"Madge?" he hears Gale say. "Are you okay?" Ash turns to see that his cousin is frantically rubbing her eyes.

"Yes. I'm fine. Sorry." Madgie takes a breath. "I just… I just really hope Rain is right about all this."

The room falls silent, but everyone's agreement is palpable in the air. Finally, Cinna clears his throat. "Shall we continue with our 'wedding preparations' excuse, then?"

The better part of an hour later, Ashton groans as he sets aside the upteenth garland that he's made. "Why couldn't we have had a nice, traditional, spartan Thirteen wedding?"

"Blame Pluto Skywasp," Johanna says, deliberately messing up Plutarch's name as always. "He wanted a schmancy Capitol-esque affair, didn't he?" She tosses away her garland as well. "So…"

Ashton looks suspiciously at her.

Quietly enough so no one else can hear: "That Gale is pretty hot stuff. Why didn't you tell me your kid sister had such a good-looking friend?"

"Ugh!" Ashton chucks his recently-finished garland at her. "Come on. They're babies. Don't go corrupting them, Bananas."

"He's not so much younger than me."

"You called him a runt earlier."

"Hot runt."

"Why the hell am I having this conversation with you?" Ashton shakes his head in disgust. "Leave him alone, Johanna. Besides, I'm pretty sure Madgie's had her heart set on him since she and Emmy realized boys don't have cooties."

"And she still hasn't made a move?" Johanna grimaces. "Your kid sister's friends really need to pick up some moves. I mean, it's obvious that Peety over there—"

"Peeta."

"Whatever. It's obvious that Frosting Boy worships the ground that Braids walks on. Am I right?"

"Yes…"

"And how long has that been going on?"

"Just as long as Madgie. Maybe longer."

Johanna gesticulates wildly. "And they're all _friends!_ It's not like they've been watching each other from afar all these years. They talk to each other and hang out with each other practically every day. What's wrong with them? I mean, if I were your cousin, I would totally have boned Gale ages ago."

Ashton stands up. "I'm out of here."

"Don't be such a prude, Princess!" Johanna shouts at his back as he dashes out of the apartment before she can say anything else that will scar him for life.

* * *

Several of us are crowded around as Finch removes the gauze from Marvel's face for the last time. I would have expected Marvel to be joking with us as she works, jesting about how he won't be liable for any heart attacks once we all see his beautiful face or something like that. Instead, he's quiet and grave, and he looks discomfited by the attention, although he doesn't tell us to go away. When I asked earlier if we should give him some privacy, he waved it off. "You're all going to see the damage sooner or later."

Finch is standing in front of Marvel, so we can't see when she's done un-bandaging him. I can see, however, the way her shoulders tense as she beholds his scars, even though she's seen his injuries multiple times before as she periodically changed his wrappings.

"That bad, huh?" Marvel comments a little sadly.

"It's not terrible," Finch allows. And then, more sternly, "And I told you, it doesn't matter. Right?" Only when he nods does she finally move aside.

It takes all of my self-control not to instinctively flinch or gasp. I would never forgive myself if I did. When we first carried Marvel out of the bandits' camp, his face was covered in enough blood that the damage wasn't immediately clear. Now, it's apparent that the person—or people, rather, who inflicted the cuts on his face were extremely handy with knives. The way the scars line his face is almost methodical, like each incision was carefully planned and executed. On the left side, crimson vertical lines stream down from his eyes—just avoiding doing any damage to his sight—like macabre tear tracks. On the right side, an X dominates the top half of his face, his eye framed by the upper V, and a cut extends from the corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent half-smirk.

Not going to lie. It definitely takes me aback.

Marvel smiles wanly as we all stand there in stunned silence. "I guess I probably shouldn't ask for a mirror, huh?"

I desperately cast my mind for something, anything that I can say to make him feel better. But my tongue feels leaden. In the end, it's Clove, our resident knife-expert, who breaks the silence. "I would've done worse."

To my astonishment, Marvel laughs as he gets to his feet. "I don't doubt that. Guess I should be thankful you're on my side, huh?"

She sticks her nose up. "Are you kidding? I'm on nobody's side but my own."

Cato sighs and steps forward and roughly nudges Marvel. "You made such a big deal over battle scars."

"He's half-peacock, what do you expect?" Glimmer comments wryly.

Marvel shoves Cato back, an almost-normal grin on his face. "Alright, might as well get it over with and let everyone else see my new mug."

I sidle up beside him as everyone disperses. "Finch recapped what happened that night," I say quietly. "It could've been a lot worse. I'm glad you were there to watch her back."

"Yeah. Me too," he murmurs.

"First Glimmer saved me, now you and Finch. District 1 seems to be saving a lot of asses these days."

He smirks. "Gotta give our home district a good image." I squeeze his shoulder and make to depart, but he calls me back. "So I've been meaning to ask, how _did_ you get out of that ravine? And how _didn't_ Cato?"

"Teamwork and self-sacrifice," I shoot back.

"So you two are good now?"

I look away. "You could say that."

The suspicion in his voice is audible. "What's that supposed—"

"Oh, we're moving. Gotta go."

Unfortunately, I should have remembered that Cato and I ended up in that ravine in the first place not just because of Marvel but also his fellow conspirators. Sometime during the morning, they must have congregated to scheme again. One minute I'm alone at the head of the pack with Cedric, and the next, I'm flanked on either side by Finch and Glimmer.

"You don't mind if we have some girl talk with your sister, do you?" Glimmer asks Cedric.

"I hear nothing."

"Smart kid." Glimmer turns her sharp green gaze on me. "So Marvel just confirmed a suspicion that I've been harboring for a while."

"And what suspicion would that be?" I ask blithely.

"You and Cato are not as 'good' as you two are pretending."

I exhale. "You must be mistaken."

"You haven't talked to him since before the bandits," Finch observes.

"I talked to him this morning!"  
"About supplies," she counters.

"Well, that's important to talk about."

"And when's the last time you two talked about something not related to supplies, shifts, or things essential to the day-to-day running of the pack?" Glimmer demands.

I clench my fist. "How is this any of your business?"

Clove's voice from behind almost makes me jump. "Because not talking to you is making Cato a huge bitch and it's getting to be a real pain in the ass."

I turn my head to eye her. "You're in on this too?"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm only interested in the romantic mush to the point that it affects the rest of us."

These people… I rub my eyes. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but this is between Cato and me."

"We've been waiting for several days," Glimmer says flatly. "Where is Cato right now? The other end of the pack. The last time he wasn't walking with you when neither of you were on sled duty was way back when we first left the arena, and you guys were pretty pissed at each other then, too. You two fixed it somehow last time, though. So do it again or we'll make you."

"The ravine didn't work all that well," I retort.

"It was interrupted. If we have to intervene again, I promise you, we _will_ resort to drastic measures."

At the mutinous look on my face, Finch asks me carefully, "Ember, what's wrong with just...talking to him?"

I avoid her stare. "I…" My many excuses and justifications for evading Cato come to mind, but I have a hunch that the three busybodies surrounding me will tear them to pieces if I voice them. "I'm waiting for him to speak first."

"He's probably expecting the same from you," Finch points out.

"Failure to communicate is the downfall of many a relationship," Glimmer says sagely. "Don't be one of those people."

"I'm _not!_ Cato and I talk about everything."

"Talk_ed_ about everything," she corrects. "You're certainly not doing so now."

I scowl and fall silent, determined to ignore their further meddling.

"Ah, leave her alone, she's sulking. We can't get through to her now," Clove says. "But don't worry. I have a plan for tonight." She grins deviously, and a sense of foreboding wells up inside me.

* * *

Ashton blows a layer of dust off the guitar case. The other instruments in the closet are in a similar state. Clearly, music is considered a luxury in Thirteen. He wistfully eyes a violin case as the upbeat strands of traditional dancing songs haunt his ears. The memories are fading, but he can still remember a few occasions when Dad took them to the Seam when they were younger to join in on some parties. Rain and her two left feet lurked shyly in the corner, while Emmy happily whirled around the dance floor with Dad. Ash was always more interested in the musicians, pestering them until someone let him try their instrument. He could probably still play some scales on a fiddle.

"Reminiscing. Pah. I'm getting old." Ashton shakes his head and picks up the guitar case. He can hear Madge plunking away on the piano in the nearby room to which they moved it. It was horribly out of tune, and it took the two of them, Katniss's keen ear, and the sole manual on piano tuning that they managed to dig up to get it to sound pleasant again.

The guitar is much more portable, so Ashton takes it back to his family's apartment. He wasn't exaggerating when he warned Annie it had been a long time since he did anything musical, and he doesn't want his ill-fated comeback to be in public. Fortunately, no one else is in the apartment, so it'll only be his own ears that will be permanently damaged.

He fiddles around with the guitar, tuning it. Okay, so the instrument itself is pretty good. But that means he won't be able to blame it on the six-string when he sounds terrible. Ash's hands instinctively play familiar scales and chords to warm up, like he was taught so long ago. There used to be a music teacher at the school in Twelve, before budget cuts mandated her retirement. Her opinion of his musical skill was high, and they convinced Mom and Dad to get him his own guitar. Ashton cringes; that guitar is now broken in half, its remnants buried somewhere in his disaster zone of a house. He bashed it against the wall in a drunken fit once and never replaced it.

Once Ash is satisfied that he's retained his basic ability to pluck a guitar, he picks up his sheet music and scrutinizes it. Annie, Finnick, and Mags all chipped in to educate him about the traditional District 4 song's lyrics and melody. Madge and Mom helped transcribe the notes and come up with the guitar's accompanying tune. Now, it's time to see if their hard work sounds remotely harmonious. _Why did I sign up for this again?_

Ashton tentatively plays the guitar part once. There are a few clear discordant bits, but it's mostly turned out surprisingly well. He adjusts the notes accordingly and tries again, and again, and again until he's satisfied. By the time he's ready to add the lyrics, Ashton realizes he feels very much at peace.

_I've missed this._

His out-of-practice voice is off-key here and there, but he's accurate enough to be able to tell that the singing and guitar parts will mesh together quite nicely. The odds that he'll embarrass himself in public and on camera are steadily lessening. Ashton finishes the song, and then, because practice makes perfect, starts again.

Until he hears the shuffling noise.

He whips his head around and pins Summer with his gaze. When he realizes who it is, Ashton quickly quashes his surprise and smiles faintly at her. "Hey, Summy."

She gives him a tentative wave.

This is the first time they've been alone together. Mom or Dad is usually there, or Rain. Hell, even Finnick acts as a buffer between the two of them. Ashton clears his throat, wondering how it took so long for him to realize Summer was in the apartment. "Were you, uh, napping?"

Summer nods.

"Oh. I must've woken you up. Sorry." He drums his fingers on the guitar. What is he supposed to say? What is he supposed to do? Ashton is very aware that Summer used to refer to him as "the scary man down the street." Not conducive to a healthy sibling relationship.

"You sounded pretty."

Ash blinks. "I—thank you." Then silence. Summer stares at him, and he stares at her, trying to come up with ideas but drawing only blanks. Finnick makes this childcare thing look easy. His eyes flicker down toward the guitar. He taught Emmy how to climb trees and throw a punch. He taught Ceddy archery. Maybe… "Do you want to try?" He holds up the guitar.

Summer tilts her head to the side, and she nods. Ash tries not to grin like an idiot.

* * *

Once upon a time, in a Training Center far, far away, Ember Abernathy did not like Cato. It would probably be accurate to go as far as to say she had a strong distaste for him. Part of it was due to the simple fact that he was a Career, but to be fair, he also purposely acted like an ass toward her back then, so that played a part as well.

Cato does not miss those days. But as he watches Ember deliberately avoid him as they set up camp, as has been her habit of late, he is uncomfortably reminded of that time when the only relationship they shared was that of enemies in an impending death match. He's pretty sure he knows her well enough by this point to say that she isn't happy with the present state of affairs, either. And yet, neither of them has made a move since that evening in the ravine.

(For all that Cato raved about how he was going to get Marvel back for that, he never did. If he's honest with himself, that ridiculous plan to force him and Ember to have a real conversation probably would have worked if the events of that night had turned out differently.)

The problem with him and Ember is that they both have too much pride. They've both hurt and been hurt by each other through spoken and assumed words, and they know it. But if Cato is too embarrassed, indignant, and—dare he say it—afraid to apologize or make amends, then it's bound to be the same for her. With each day that passes by without them speaking, he can feel the gap between them growing ever wider, and he's afraid of what will happen if the distance becomes too great for them to cross again. He doesn't want to lose her.

And yet, he makes no move.

After dinner, Cato moves to assign shifts as usual. "Duff, Una, you're first watch tonight. Bartel—"

Duff raises his hand.

Cato eyes him. "What?"

"Uh, Thresh already set up the shifts. He said I'm on third."

Thresh what? Cato's brow furrows. That's news to him. "I'll talk to him."

The tallest boy in the pack is contentedly whittling something out of a piece of wood when Cato finds him. He grunts in acknowledgement as Cato approaches.

"Duff says you arranged the shifts already."

Thresh nods as another sliver of wood falls to the ground.

"Why?"

"Following orders."

Cato raises his eyebrows. "Whose orders?"

"Mine, you useless, moping lump." He suddenly finds himself being dragged by the shirtfront as Clove marches him away. "Now get over here." Thresh waves as they depart, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

For someone so small, Clove is deceptively strong. Still, Cato shakes her grip once he gets over his momentary shock. "What the hell, Clove? Where are we going, and why did you have Thresh do the shifts?"

"We're playing a game, and Thresh cleared up the schedules for us players."

"A game?" Cato stops. "Are you serious? Don't we have more important things to worry about?"

Clove plants her hands on her hips, looking unimpressed. "We have food, we have water, no one's in danger of dying, and everything is quiet. We don't have anything to plan, and one fewer hour of sleep isn't going to kill anyone. Any more pointless complaints?"

"I'm not in the mood for games."

"Sucks for you."

Cato narrows his eyes. "You're not going to leave me alone until I give in, are you?"

"Nope."

Fucking hell. Cato grimaces and follows Clove the rest of the way. She's chosen for this game, whatever it is, to be played just within earshot and sight of camp, but far enough away from the majority of the sleeping bags so as not to disturb anyone turning in early. Marvel and Finch are already there, seated next to each other with their legs crossed. Suspicion niggles at the back of Cato's mind as he observes their deliberately nonchalant expressions. Vidal is there too, excitement painting his face.

If his hunch is right, he knows exactly who else will be joining them for this game.

He's proven correct when Glimmer soon arrives, dragging Ember by the wrist. Cato and Ember avoid looking at each other as the two girls sit. Then, before anyone can say anything, Thresh lumbers over and plants himself between Clove and Glimmer.

"Thresh! You decided to join us after all?" Marvel asks brightly.

"Sounded fun."

They're all seated in a circle, and Cato is directly opposite Ember. _They planned this… _He turns to Clove who's sitting to his right, arranging her ridiculous bear pelt into a more comfortable position. "Alright, let's get this over with."

"One does not simply get the Caesar Game 'over with.'"

Upon hearing the name of the game they're about to play, Cato groans—if he knows any of these people at all, then he and Ember are undoubtedly going to be targeted—but everyone else stares at Clove in befuddlement. "The Caesar Game?" Ember asks. "As in Caesar Flickerman?"

"Like his interviews, the game is all about learning about other people. That's the story, anyway. No idea who made up the game in the first place."

Cato sighs. "Clove, the Caesar Game requires two things, and we have neither."

"Speak for yourself." From within her bear pelt, Clove withdraws a deck of cards.

Where the hell did that come from? "Okay, but you're still missing—"

"Nope." Now she's holding a metal flask. What is she hiding in that damned pelt?

"Where did you get those things?" Vidal asks incredulously.

"Those bandits the other day had them. Always check the bodies. Elementary rule." Clove begins shuffling.

"Do we want to know what's in that flask?" Ember asks warily.

"Moonshine. I tried it, it's not bad. Probably won't kill us."

"Alcohol isn't very conducive to physical training," Finch states. "How have your Academy trainers not banned this game in District 2?"

"Ah, we have similar games like this in One," Marvel says, sharing a conspiratorial smirk with Glimmer. "Just make sure you don't play it the night before anything important and keep your trap shut about it."

Clove props the flask in the middle of the circle and scatters the cards around it, face down. "Alright, listen carefully because I'm only going to say this once, and Cato probably won't feel like helping anybody. We all take turns randomly picking a card from the pot, and each card has an action affiliated with it. If you don't do the action, you gotta drink."

Cato has played this game before, so he knows all the rules. Instead, he amuses himself by watching everyone else's reactions. Marvel and Glimmer are nodding along to Clove, as if they've played a similar game before. Thresh just has his usual stoic expression. Vidal's eyes are narrowed in concentration, while Finch looks increasingly perturbed.

Ember is frowning, and when Clove finishes, she speaks up. "I don't drink."

"Pretty sure half this circle doesn't," Clove replies.

"No. I mean, _I don't drink._" Ember crosses her arms.

Clove looks irritated, but it clicks for Cato. Ashton Abernathy's substance abuse problems are infamous throughout Panem, and most people have heard about Haymitch's erstwhile love affair with alcohol from way back. Growing up with such powerful examples of overindulgence would make an extremely effective deterrent to drinking. So before Clove can argue, Cato cuts in. "People have played this game without drinking before. It's fine." He's looking down, but he's fairly sure Ember is looking at him.

Clove sighs. "Fine, fine. You don't have to drink...as long as you follow through with the actions on each card. It's only fair. Anyone else abstaining?"

Finch looks about to say something, but Marvel whispers in her ear, and the concerned expression on her face fades as she nods. He speaks up instead. "I'll do Finch's drinks for her, if she gets any."

"Hope you can hold your alcohol better than you did the last time we played something like this," Glimmer shoots at him.

"Don't worry about me, it's you we should be concerned with."

"Ha! I can drink you under the table any day."

"Everyone shut up. We're starting." Clove reaches for the first card.

* * *

**In case you can't tell, next chapter is going to be very fun. A while ago, I thought that it might be fun if I wrote a oneshot featuring the characters playing a drinking game, but then I thought...why not just have it in Sweetest Mockery? Et voila!**

**The Caesar Game is based off of a real-life drinking card game called Kings. Please drink responsibly, not advocating underage drinking, don't pressure people into drinking, etc., etc., absolving myself from any potential liabilities. :P**

**As usual, if you review within a week of this update, I'll send you a preview of next chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Thanks so much to ForeverTeamEdward13, martatheinvisiblegal, MissVolturiKingsfan, Mely-the-Mockingjay, Ro-Lee, Queen-Maggie-pevensie, FwuffyUnicorn, vampluver19, dleshae, Randommmfanatic, Oakenstorm, theotherpianist, and Scarlette Winter for reviewing!**

**Rhiannon: Clove has become a huge fan favorite, which I found surprising since of the four Careers, she's the one with the least development and screen time, but hey, I like her a lot too. :) Yes, I do update! My beta is my real life best friend and she metaphorically breathes down my neck to make sure this fic stays on my radar, no matter what Real Life is throwing at me. I'm glad you found this story again, and thank you for reading and reviewing!**

**Guest: Sometimes I pat myself on the back for NOT writing a messed up sibling relationship between Ash and Rain. That was on the books for a while before I decided the poor babies had been through enough. As for Marvel, by the time they get to Thirteen will he **_**want**_** them to fix his scars, if they even can? Not sure. I have not written the whole fic-I have the big plot points all mapped out and a few fun details here and there, but that's it. I used to have a policy of writing three chapters ahead of my updates so I know what's happening in the near future and so I have a little cushion in case I have no time to write. Unfortunately, I only have two chapters written out after this one, so future updates after that one goes up might be up in the air while I get Real Life sorted. I'll have more details at the end. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

Twenty-Nine:

I watch with apprehension as Clove gleefully draws the first card. Not long ago, as she rattled off the rules that accompany each card number, I became more and more certain that she—and everyone else in the circle, most likely—was absolutely planning on appropriating the game as a means of interfering with Cato and me. Why Clove of all people is joining the rest of the busybodies, I don't know. For all she complained earlier about our problems affecting everyone else, I'm sure she could ignore us if she really wanted to.

Clove throws down her card. A two. _Two is You. You ask somebody, anybody, in the circle a question. If they don't answer, they drink._ She turns her semi-savage grin to the player on her left: Cato. Well, at least it's not me. But I'm willing to bet that whatever Clove asks Cato will still have to do with me somehow.

"So," she begins with relish, "why have you been so mopey lately?"

And behold.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I exchange an irritated glance with Cato. Like me, he's irked by Clove and the others prying into personal business. I wonder if he's been equally pestered by them as I have in the last few days. Suddenly, I realize what I'm doing and hastily look away.

"You guys really want to know?" Cato asks, and everyone in the circle unconsciously leans forward. I suppress a sigh and brace myself for criticism on how I'm too quick to jump to conclusions and put words in his mouth. It wouldn't be wholly undeserved.

To everyone's surprise, Cato reaches forward and grabs the flask from the center. "Aw, come on!" Marvel complains as Clove huffs.

Cato gives them both the finger as he takes a swig. Disgust washes over his face. "Ugh. 'It's not bad,' Clove? What low standards are you working with?"

"Well, of course it's not going to meet your hoity-toity palate's expectations," Clove snarks as Cato tosses the flask back into the middle.

"I think I might be going blind from that."

"Quit complaining." Clove jabs her thumb toward Thresh, on her right. "Your turn."

As Thresh selects his card, I find myself hoping that he won't target me like the others. Him and Vidal. And Cato isn't eager to air all our dirty laundry, either. My skin crawls at the thought of even sniffing the contents of that flask, and I don't want to have to be a spoilsport if I refuse to comply with the game's rules because I don't like the questions people are asking.

My hopes for Thresh's kindness are beaten to the ground when he reveals his card and immediately looks at me. _Ten is Word Association, or rather, Name Association. The player picks someone else to respond, and they randomly list the names of everyone in the game one at a time. After each name, the responder has to say the first thing that comes to mind when each name is spoken, and the original player immediately follows up with the next name. If the responder doesn't answer or takes too long, they drink._

"Ember," Thresh announces, and this time I don't hold in my sigh. He doesn't waste any time before he begins. "Glimmer."

"Tough."

"Clove."

"Bear."

"Marvel."

"Too chatty." (_"Hey!"_)

"Finch."

"Not chatty."

"Thresh."

"Even less chatty."

"Vidal."

"Trust."

"Cato."

"Hurt." I clamp down on my mouth, but the damage is done. I determinedly ignore Cato's stare as I concentrate on preventing my face from turning red.

"Alright, my turn," Glimmer declares, drawing away everyone's attention. She picks up the closest card: five. _Five is Guys. Player asks all the guys in the game a question, and they all have to answer. Otherwise, they drink._ Glimmer considers it for a moment before asking, "What's your ideal partner like?"

I stifle a groan.

Marvel goes first. "Very smart girl. Someone who'll tell me when I'm being _too chatty._" The last part is spoken with a glower in my direction. I smirk. "But also someone I can have meaningful conversations with. And a secret mischievous side."

Finch's face is rapidly turning the same color as her hair.

After a moment, Thresh volunteers. "Honest. Kind. Hard-working. Stands up for others. Strong sense of integrity."

"Thinking of anyone from back home in particular?" Marvel teases.

"That wasn't the question," Thresh responds curtly.

Vidal scratches the back of his neck. "Uh. A good heart, and, um...uh…" He sighs. "Ah, fuck it. You've all already met Javi."

I knew it! I nudge Vidal, who's sitting beside me. "So that's your answer? Just 'Javi'? No further explanation? He's _that_ ideal?"

He grins sheepishly. "I mean, ever since I realized that I prefer boys, I've never wanted anyone else. So yeah, I guess he is."

"And how does he feel?" Glimmer asks curiously. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Oh, he liked me first. He was just waiting for me to catch up, hehe." Vidal's smile fades a little. "We can't do much about it, though. Most people in Ten don't think boys should like boys. But we've dealt with it so far." He turns to Marvel and Finch. "I never thanked you guys properly for what you did, going with the bandits because they had Javi. If something had happened to him, I… I don't know what I would've done."

"He helped us first," Finch answers, a little pink from the attention.

"Javi's a good guy. Of course we had to help." Marvel leans around Finch to pat Vidal's back. "No thanks necessary."

"But still, it's because they grabbed Javi that they...well, got you."

Marvel hesitates, then shrugs as he unconsciously leans toward Finch. "To be honest, now that you've reminded me what could have happened to Javi if we didn't go with, I don't mind the scars as much. Everything that led up to that point happened for good reasons. You know what I mean?"

Vidal is smiling again. "Yeah. I think I do."

We all indulge in the feeling of warm, fuzzy companionship for a moment. Then Glimmer reminds us, "We're still waiting on one person."

All heads turn toward Cato. Is he going to drink again? The thought of it makes me feel a little hurt, if he would rather drink gross moonshine than say anything. But I don't know if I even have the right to complain about such things anymore.

Cato is visibly contemplating the flask. But in the end, he answers Glimmer's question. "Someone who doesn't mind dumping ice cream on her brother on national television."* Then he sits back, indicating he's done talking.

The others look confused, but I'm currently being wracked by the faint memory of toddler me smearing an ice cream cone all over Ashton. Was that on camera? It must have been, if Cato knows about it. He really wasn't kidding when he said he saw me on TV growing up. _And_ he remembers something as silly as that.

Glimmer pokes me, jolting me out of my thoughts. "Ember, your turn."

Ah! Maybe I can finally put an end to this run of Ember-and-Cato targeted questions. I pick a card. Jack. _J is Never Have I Ever. Everyone holds up five fingers and goes around saying things they've never done until someone puts down all their fingers. Losers drink._ Our hands all go up. I chew on my lip as I think. "Never have I ever...played a drinking game before today."

Everyone except Finch puts down a finger. Vidal, who's on my right, goes next. "Never have I ever…saved someone's life."

Wow. That escalated quickly.

"That should be all of you," Vidal declares. "Mutts, fire-bombs, Alasdar's traps, Javi. Fingers down, all of you."

"But not you?" Clove challenges.

Vidal gestures at his crippled leg. "I don't usually have the opportunity. Not like you." He points at me. "You hauled me out of the water when that mutt bit me." He points at Finch. "Pretty sure you've saved us all from dying of infection at one point or another." He points at Cato. "We'd all be burnt to a crisp if it weren't for you." Vidal grins. "Come on, don't be modest. Fingers down."

Glimmer sighs. "We're all such goddamn noble heroes." She puts her finger down. The rest of us follow suit.

It's Finch's turn next. Avoiding my gaze, she says, "Never have I ever prolonged a disagreement by refusing to talk to the other person about it."

Oh. Okay. Fine. You're going to be that way. I put down my finger. So do Glimmer, Marvel, and Vidal. So does Cato. No one is looking directly at either of us, but I still feel like they're watching Cato and me for a reaction. But his expression is like stone, and I do my best to look bored, although I don't know if it fools anyone.

Marvel's up. He rubs his hands together. "Never. Have. I. Ever...gotten kneed in the crotch by Ember Abernathy."

Snort and sputters erupt around the circle, then explode into uproarious laughter as Cato, with a death glare directed at Marvel, puts down his finger. I clap my hands over my mouth as I recall the instance Marvel is referring to, back in the Training Center when Cato decided a civilized conversation consisted of dragging me into an elevator.

"When was this?" Glimmer demands incredulously in between snickers.

"Training Center," Cato mutters.

The words "You deserved it" fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. Cue more laughter.

Cato is glowering at me now, although not with as much poison as he glares at Marvel. At last, he relents, a wry half-smile on his lips. "Yeah. I kind of did." Then he cracks his knuckles. "My turn. Never have I ever lived in District 1."

Marvel and Glimmer immediately stop laughing and scowl at him. "Come on, that's way too obvious," Marvel complains.

"Suck it up, Chatty."

After some more grumbling, Marvel and Glimmer finally put down their fingers. They and Cato are now all tied at four fingers. One more and they're out. Finch is currently winning—not that this game really has a winner—with only one finger down.

Clove decides to rectify that, opting to prolong the round a little longer in favor of targeting Finch. She's next, and without missing a beat, she announces, "Never have I ever read a medical textbook of my own free will."

Finch narrows her eyes, but she puts her finger down. She's the only one.

Thresh mulls over what he's going to say, then: "Never have I ever regretted a relationship with anyone in this circle."

I immediately look over at Cato, who's also looking back at me. Neither of us has put a finger down. No one else has either, but seeing that Cato's fifth finger is still up makes a mysterious tension in my chest ease up. I regret nothing about meeting Cato, getting to know Cato, starting a _whatever-this-is_ with Cato. And I am relieved beyond measure to know he feels the same.

No one puts a finger down, but Thresh doesn't seem disappointed in the least. And then it's Glimmer's turn. I wonder if she plans to finally end this round of Never Have I Ever. She looks thoughtful, and then slowly, she says, "Never have I ever fallen in love."

Silence falls over the group. I'm not the only one staring at Glimmer. _That's_ what she picks?

"Glimmer," Vidal says quietly, "don't you think that's a bit difficult to answer?"

"It's yes or no, isn't it?"

Vidal shakes his head. "You could say love is like a spectrum. You don't always clearly fall on one side or the other. Besides, it's not really fair to make someone declare definitively that they're in love in front of everyone, don't you think?"

"...You have a point," Glimmer allows. "I guess I could pick something else."

"Forget it," Clove interrupts. "Let's move on with the rest of the game. I say that everyone with four fingers down should assume they would've been taken out with Glimmer's last question—except Glimmer, obviously—and take a shot."

Cato and Marvel are the only ones to whom Clove's decree applies. After the rest of us murmur agreement with her, the two boys share a look and shrug. Cato gestures for Marvel to go first.

Stoically and dramatically, Marvel raises the flask and sips. He manages to keep a straight face for a few seconds, but in the end he cracks. "_Gah!_ You were right, Cato, that's nasty shit." He passes the flask.

Cato mockingly toasts with the metal container before drinking. With a grimace, he puts the flask back in the middle. "Okay, whose turn is it now?"

"Vidal," I answer.

Vidal hums contemplatively as his hands hover over several cards. "Mmm...I like this one." He plucks it. Ace. _A is All. Player asks everyone a simple question—that is, a question with a simple answer, no more than a few words—and everyone goes around the circle with their answer. You don't answer, you drink._ He grins. "I know! Who do you think is the most attractive person in this circle?"

Glimmer snorts. "You can ask that but I can't ask my question?"

"Saying you find someone attractive is much different than saying you've been or are in love," Vidal retorts. "Case in point: my answer is Marvel."

"Aw, shucks," the boy in question responds, laughing. "You're making me blush."

Whereas Marvel is joking, Finch is actually blushing. She mumbles her answer, and Marvel leans in, a huge grin on his face.

"What's that? I couldn't hear and I'm right next to you! How do you expect everyone else—"

Finch makes a wordless noise of frustration and elbows him. "I'm not saying it again."

Glimmer smirks. "I think we all know what her answer is anyway."

Marvel leans back to rest his elbows on the ground. "Who do I think is the most attractive in this game? Well, obviously, my answer is...me."

The circle erupts into mocking jeers, with insults like "peacock" and other accusations of narcissism flying his way. Clove actually throws her shoe at him.

"Rude." Marvel throws it back at its owner. As the din dies down, I observe Marvel whispering something in Finch's ear, which makes her turn red for the twentieth time tonight. But probably not as red as she would've been if he said what I suspect he whispered—his real answer—out loud to the whole circle. "Alright, Cato," Marvel says more loudly, "declare yourself."

For some reason, I feel my something catching in my throat as Cato sighs in exasperation. "Call me crazy, but it's got to be the girl who kneed me in the crotch at the Training Center."

Laughter explodes. Even I crack a grin, as my mind absorbs Cato's answer. "You masochist!" Marvel crows. "I knew it!"

"I am not, and like hell you 'knew' anything," Cato shoots back.

"Clove! What do you think you're doing?" Glimmer's exclamation seizes everyone's attention, and we all turn to catch Clove in the middle of unscrewing the flask.

"You want to make me choose which one of you ugly fuckers is least ugly? I'll pass on that headache," Clove scoffs as she swigs from the flask, and everyone's jeers and indignation are redirected toward her instead.

When the furor dies down, we turn to Thresh. His shoulders rise slightly in what might be a half-hearted shrug. "Objectively speaking, Glimmer."

"Thank you." Glimmer preens. "As for me, also objectively speaking, I'd have to say Ember."

"Me?" I point at myself.

"No, the other Ember playing this game." She nudges me. "Now you go."

"Ah." Well, what else can I say? Whatever might be happening between us right now, there is only one true answer. "Cato."

"Eh. No surprise there," Marvel remarks, and a murmur of agreement ripples across the circle.

I peek over at Cato. His eyes flicker toward me as well, and a faint smile alights on his face. I feel my lips curving up slightly too.

Finch grabs a card. "Seven," she states, putting it down. _Seven is Reckon. The player gives a seven-word hint about a person in the game, and the others try to "reckon" who it is. If someone guesses within seven seconds, the original player drinks. If no one gets it, those who guessed incorrectly have to drink._

Of course Finch would get the riddle card. The sight of her ghost smile—nay, _poltergeist_ smile, alerts me to the likelihood she's going to be joining the target-Ember-and-Cato game again. I don't even feel indignant anymore, just exasperated. After a moment of contemplation, Finch announces her hint. "Lovelorn but too prideful to change that."

Glimmer and Marvel pounce. "_Ember!_" "_Cato!_" Their shouts jumble over one another, but their words are clear.

Finch's poltergeist smile flickers again. "True...but not the answer I was thinking of."

_Huh?_ My confused reaction is mirrored on everyone else's faces. Whom else could she be talking about? The seconds trickle away as we try and fail to puzzle it out.

"Time's up," Finch declares softly, looking a tad smug.

Marvel passes the flask to Glimmer. "Ladies first."

She wrinkles her nose but dutifully takes the requisite drink, as does Marvel after her.

"So who _were_ you thinking of?" Vidal asks Finch.

"Not my secret to tell." Before we can continue to pester her for an answer, or to figure it out for ourselves, she quickly passes the baton. "Marvel's turn."

"Yeah, it is." But for all his eagerness, he hems and haws over his selection, until Clove threatens to pick a card for him. Then he quickly swipes the one nearest his hand. "Queen!" _Q is Quiz. The original player quizzes somebody else—just one question—on a third person. If the quizzee gets it right, the first player drinks. If the quizzee gets it wrong, they drink._

I'm not surprised when Marvel turns his toothy grin on me.

"Emmmbeeeer," he drawls. "You ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Although it's me to whom Marvel speaks, it's Cato he looks at meaningfully when he asks, "What does Cato like the most about you?"

A hush falls over the group, swollen with anticipation. I stare at Marvel, aghast. This question might be even worse than Glimmer's. It's not exactly something I ponder over in my downtime. _Hmmm, let's see, what's Cato's favorite thing about me? Let me list the possibilities._ I have my vain moments, but not to that extent.

My brain freezes, refusing to resolve Marvel's query. What does Cato like the most? About me? _What… What… What…_ Should I play it off, give some stupid, silly answer, like "my superior ability to knee people in the crotch"? It's already starting to become a running joke. I could keep it going.

But I keep wondering about it. _What does he like the most about me? What? What? What?_ My desire to know the answer burns. I cast my mind to every conversation with Cato that I can easily remember, but none of them provide any hints about what might be Cato's favorite thing about me. The more I mull over them, the more I identify the things _I_ like the most about _him,_ but that's not the question being posed right now. Maybe I'm looking at the wrong source material. I'm certain that Cato has never said to me anything along the lines of "this is what I like the most about you." He's told me things that he likes in general about me, but not _the most._ Maybe I shouldn't be thinking about things Cato has said, but what other people have said.

Ced's face appears in my mind's eye, and I can almost hear snippets of what he said shortly after he decided he didn't dislike Cato anymore. _He's not so bad, I guess. Don't be too mean to him. He looks at you a lot._

_He likes your smile, apparently._

It's as good a guess as any, and something that I can say without feeling too embarrassed or banal. "Ced mentioned once that y—that Cato, um...really likes my smile." My voice steadily falls in volume, and the last word is nearly a whisper. But everyone is so keen to hear my answer that I'm sure it was plenty audible.

Heads swivel to stare at Cato, for confirmation or for denial.

He's resting his chin on his hand, looking contemplative. "That's a really good answer. And...it is _one_ of my favorite things about you. But not _the_ favorite."

Everyone in the circle sits back, almost simultaneously, lingering over Cato's response. I'm no different. So, he does like my smile. A lot. But evidently he likes something even more.

"So…" Marvel looks uncertain. "The rule is that you're supposed to drink if you answer incorrectly, but you said earlier...you know."

I eye the flask with no little amount of distaste. Not just because of its apparently nasty taste, but because of the fact that it's alcoholic at all. The perils of alcohol are known all too well among my family.

"Give me that." Cato's hand whips toward the middle, and without ceremony, he takes my penalty for me. His third drink of the night and more than anyone else; Marvel's only had two. When he realizes we're all gaping at him, he scowls. "It was fine when Marvel offered to do it for Finch. I see no difference." He casts the flask away. "My turn now, right? Everyone will have gone once I'm done. I say we stop after me."

Clove, who has apparently declared herself the boss of everybody for tonight, shrugs. "Fine with me."

"We've been playing for a while, and it's getting late," I add. "It also won't be pretty if someone ends up drinking too much."

"Okay, _Mom,_" Marvel shoots at me, but in the end we all agree to stop after Cato's turn.

Tiredly, Cato reaches out for the nearest card and flips it over to show us all without looking at it first. Six. _Six is Kiss. You kiss somebody in the game, or you drink. Simple._

No one speaks. Not to crack a joke, not to make an insinuating remark, nothing. Cato stares at the card for several moments. I can practically imagine what's going through his head: _Of course it'd be this card. Of course it'd be on my turn. Of course it'd be the last one of the night._

I can see his eyes flickering toward the flask, considering whether that would be the easier option. But I catch his attention, and ever so slightly, I shake my head no. Maybe I'm being overbearing, but I think he's had enough of that moonshine today. And he's made it clear that he doesn't like it.

_It's okay, Cato._

He holds my gaze, and then he stands up. Six pairs of eyes are rapt with attention as he crosses the short distance across the circle. Cato kneels in front of me, and his hands edge toward mine, as if to take them, before he remembers himself and stops. I wish he didn't. Then, eyes never leaving mine until the last possible moment, he bows his head and presses a chaste kiss on my forehead.

"Game over," he says quietly, our gazes meeting again.

Neither of us reacts to the flurry of motion around us, as the others pick up the cards and hike back to the main camp. Nobody stops to speak to us, as if they all know how important it is to leave us alone right now.

My skin still tingles where his lips just touched. The longer we continue to stare at each other, the more my anxiety builds, but I don't try to break that tenuous contact just yet. Cato speaks first. "Can we move a few yards over, just far enough so no one can hear us?"

I nod. He gets to his feet then offers me a hand to help me up. He doesn't let go as we place a little more distance between us and everyone else, and the darkness shields us from any curious eyes.

We stand there, neither of us speaking a word. This time, it's my turn to break the silence, and, as I look down at my feet, I unintentionally echo his words from several days ago, when we were in the ravine. "I've missed you."

My words are met with no response. My heart picks up its pace, blood rushing through my veins. Silence. What does that mean? Am I… Are we too late? Has he changed his mind? Did I read him wrong? I'm almost afraid to look up, in case his expression is one of stony disinterest, but I muster my resolve. Fortune favors the bold and all that. My eyes flicker upward.

There is a small but sincere smile gracing Cato's mouth, and even in the darkness I can just make out the warmth in his usually icy and hard eyes. "Glad I wasn't the only one," he says softly. Then he opens his arms.

I dart into them as I try not to drown in my relief and elation. His arms encircle me as I wrap mine around his waist, and my cheek rediscovers its resting place against his chest. There's light, warm pressure on the top of my head as Cato kisses it. "Why did we even fight in the first place?" I whisper.

"It's inevitable when you have two tempers like ours."

I laugh quietly. "You're right." I snuggle closer. "I really don't want to ruin this moment. But we have to talk about it, don't we?"

"We should." He rubs a small circle on my back once, and then we step back and find a relatively comfortable patch of ground to sit on. We sit with our legs crossed, facing each other and close enough that our knees almost touch.

"I was unfair toward you," I begin. "I shouldn't have gone off on you for words you never said."

"You had a point, though," Cato concedes. "I did feel that you were being a little too eager to trust again. And it turns out Javi was all right, after all."

"We didn't know that at the time."

"We had Vidal's word for it. You were right, it's different when you have someone in person to speak up on Javi's behalf."

"But…" I try to find the right words. "Even if you did think and feel those things you said, you didn't actually _say_ them. You're entitled to think whatever you want. I shouldn't have gotten mad because I didn't like what you may or may not have felt."

"Ember." Cato exhales. "I've been kicking myself for how I've handled things. I reacted so adversely to Javi in the beginning because I was worried about how he might hurt you, hurt the pack, and I didn't trust your judgment because _I_ was still stuck on what happened with Alasdar. I thought you were being too trusting again, even though I should've known that you would have been the opposite, after everything. When we started to argue, I failed to explain that the issue was less you trusting someone and more me afraid that someone else would take advantage of that trust again. And in the days that followed, I couldn't humble myself enough to talk to you and admit—"

"Hey," I interject gently, "don't take all the blame for us not talking. I'm at fault for at least half, you know."

Cato's eyes look a little sad. "In the ravine, right before we heard the mockingjays. We fought about Alasdar's death. Do you still have nightmares because of what I did?

I inhale sharply. "The nightmares have been getting worse since we fought," I admit. "But I don't think it's because of what Clove told me. I think it's because you haven't been there. Whether or not they feature anything as a result of my talk with Clove is unimportant. As long as… As long as you come back."

Suddenly, I feel myself being lifted off the ground and pulled against Cato as he embraces me again. "I always come back," he murmurs.

I burrow my face against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, bliss coursing through my body. "Am I going to have to thank Clove and the others for how utterly happy I feel right now?"

He scoffs and gathers me closer. "We would've figured things out on our own. They just sped the process up."

My thoughts loop back to the events of the game. In particular, the last turn before Cato's. "So what was the right answer?"

"Hm?" Cato seems preoccupied by playing with my hair.

"The thing you like most about me."

"Ah." He pulls back so he can look me in the eye, but mere inches separate us. "You would never have guessed correctly. It took hours of thinking—usually while we're walking—to figure it out for myself."

"_Hours_ of thinking? You exaggerate."

"No, I think about you a lot." He grins rakishly as I try not to blush. "You really want to know the answer?" I nod firmly. His hand rises so his thumb and gently rub circles against my cheek. "My favorite thing about you...is that you remind me. You remind me that I'm more than what they expect me to be: the Academy, my district, my father. You remind me that I'm the master of my own fate. You remind me that I decide my own life and future. And I've decided...that the only life and future I want are the ones that have you in them." I am unable to look away as he stares intently at me, the circling of his thumb gradually slowing. "While we're talking about the game, I might as well answer Glimmer's question, huh? If I've ever been in love?" His breath ghosts across my cheek, where his thumb just was. "Vidal was right when he said it's not a simple yes-or-no question. Because my answer is that if I'm not already in love with you, I'm bound to be the next time I see that smile of yours that I like so much."

My heart does gymnastics in my ribcage. As his words register, my delight cannot be contained and diffuses into my face.

"There it is," he whispers. "Hook, line, and sinker."

"Just like that? You love me?"

His smile is almost shy. "Honestly, I've probably been in love with you for some time and just never realized it. But yeah. I love you."

I feel almost transcendent in my happiness. I wouldn't be surprised if Cato told me I were glowing right now. "Good. Glad I'm not the only one." I lean in so my lips graze against his ear. "I love you too." And then I turn his head so that my lips are against his.

Cato reacts with ferocity, and dimly, somewhere in my mind, it occurs to me that this is our first real kiss in a long time. We haven't kissed like this since before Alasdar, and we hadn't been doing it for long. Hot mouths, roaming hands, the sensation is at once familiar and novel.

And oh so _very_ good.

But my inner parent-of-the-group refuses to allow me to forget myself for long. Somehow, in between kisses, I manage to get out a few coherent words. "If—we—_mm_—stay out for—_ah_—much longer, th-the others are...mmm…"

"Don't care about the others," Cato mutters against my neck.

"I'd rather not have to endure wisecracks from Marvel or knowing looks from Glimmer and Clove for the next week and a half."

He sighs, head dropping to rest on my shoulder. "Yeah, that's probably going to happen, huh?" His finger traces my arm from shoulder to wrist, leaving a burning trail. "It's better if we stop now, anyway."

I smirk. "Do you still miss me?"

"I miss you every time I have to turn my back on you." He claims one last kiss, and then we force ourselves to get up. As we walk back to the main camp, my hand easily slides into his, and he unhesitatingly interlaces our fingers. It's almost as if we never stopped.

Most people are in their sleeping bags now, except the two on watch. Cedric is snoozing away in the middle of his horde of friends—so different from when we were in Twelve, and he had practically none—so when I fetch my sleeping bag, I don't go anywhere near him. Instead, I lay it down beside Cato, and once we're both tucked in, he pulls me in close, where my ear is pressed against his beating heart.

A moment later, I find out that although almost everyone is in their sleeping bags, it doesn't necessarily mean everyone is asleep, because Clove's hushed voice carries over to us. "You two better not fight again because I won't be as nice next time."

Cato and I stifle our laughter. Then I sigh in contentment and close my eyes, to the sensation of his fingers stroking my hair. I don't think I'll have nightmares tonight.

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***For more on the ice cream incident that Cato mentioned, see my other fic Unwritten Hearts.**

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**So some sad news. As of this posting, I only have two more chapters written after this. If I don't find the time to write more chapters after those two are posted, I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep updating reliably. :( It's been nearly impossible to find time this semester to work on this fic, inspiration is starting to run low, and TBH, I'm trying to get back into writing some original work. Hopefully during the upcoming breaks I'll be able to get some more chapters of Sweetest Mockery ready for future postings, but we'll have to see…**

**But now some good news! The one year anniversary of Sweetest Mockery (from its revival last year, not the original publication date) is coming up, on November 23. I'm planning a little surprise for fans of the Sweetest Mockery-verse, so keep an eye for any new fics I may be publishing around that date! That fic is going to be VERY open to reader suggestions, and I'm hoping that working on that will jumpstart my muse for Sweetest Mockery as well. :)**

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**As usual, if you submit a review within a week of this update, you get a preview of the next chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you very much to martatheinvisiblegal, Mely-the-Mockingjay, jafcbutterfly, MissVolturiKingsfan, Ro-Lee, theotherpianist, ForeverTeamEdward13, FwuffyUnicorn, vampluver19, and Randommmfanatic for reviewing!**

**Guest 1: Thank you! And yes, the pack deserved some laughs and fun times after everything they've been through. :)**

**Guest 2: Aw, thank you so much! I'm glad you found it too. Welcome aboard!**

**RueJabberjay: Thank you! I'm glad you like everyone so much!**

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Thirty:

"You are making a terrible mistake, Odair."

"No, Abernathy, this is the right decision. I'm sure of it."

"To ruin your own wedding like this? Are you crazy?"

"I'm perfectly sane. This is best for everybody."

"What about _Annie?_"

"Don't worry about Annie, she'll be happy with everything in the end."

"This wedding is supposed to be televised!"

"I'm aware. Smile for the cameras, Abernathy!" Finnick claps Ashton on the back.

Ashton sighs. "Honestly, though. Do you really need a best man at all? Annie isn't having a bridesmaid or anything."

"I have to make you suffer somehow, so yes, I do need a best man."

"You're already making me sing," Ashton whines.

"That was for Annie. This is for me. Now get your ass out there, Abernathy. My wedding's starting." Finnick shoves Ashton into Thirteen's dining hall, also currently known as the wedding venue.

Ashton quickly finds his footing again and, after one last glower back at Finnick, he straightens and makes his way down the cleared aisle with more calmness than he feels. The path is scattered with wildflowers picked from aboveground, excitedly strewn by Summer, who went ahead of him as flower girl.

Finnick makes his entrance when Ash is a little more than halfway down, diverting most of the attention away, thankfully. Then Ashton awkwardly takes his best man spot, wishing that Annie managed to rope in some girl to balance him out on the other side. Really, if the bride and groom have a grand total of one person in their wedding party, they're better off just having none. But no. Odair insisted, that whiny, little... Ash realizes he's unconsciously fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and quickly clasps his hands behind his back. Now that he's up here in front of Cressida's filming crew, he might as well play the part as best he can and not embarrass anyone. He tries not to sweat too much as he feels the cameras staring at his profile.

"Relax, Ash. Breathe."

He does as bidden and casts a glance at Mom, who is serenely waiting beside him. Plutarch thought it would be an excellent idea to have one of the Abernathys officiate the wedding—really get the messages of District unity, family, friendship, et cetera, et cetera—through to the propo viewers. When Finnick and Annie enthusiastically agreed to the idea, Mom readily volunteered to learn the role.

Dad, meanwhile, has been roped into another, just as important task.

Finnick is starting to get restless. As best man, it's Ashton's job to calm him down, but before he can figure out something reassuring to say, two figures arrive at the entrance: Annie dressed in one of Cinna's masterpieces, and Dad escorting her in lieu of any other family. As they approach the front, a sweet melody tinkles out of the piano, and Ash glances over at Madgie, intent on her playing. For half a moment, he sees a duplicate of his cousin beside her, but with hair as dark as Madge's is golden, and they both are six not sixteen, their small fingers struggle to find the right keys—Emmy struggling more than Madgie—and their discordant playing pleasantly fills not District 13's dining hall but Uncle Basil's mayoral abode. Such is how Ash recalls finding his sister and his cousin the day before his first and last Reaping ten years ago.

_Soon. Soon. Soon._ Ashton discreetly flexes his hands, willing himself not to drown in memories again, lest he succumb to the temptation to seek out the alcoholic black market that he knows exists somewhere in Thirteen. _Soon._ If Rain is right—and she always is, apparently, as she likes to point out whenever they argue—then he will see Emmy again in a few weeks. _Soon._ He just needs to get through this wedding and the next few days before he and the others sneak out of this underground complex.

Dad gives Annie's hand one last reassuring squeeze before taking his seat. The bride is a bit nervous, but such nerves are vastly overwhelmed by her excitement. Ashton adjusts his angle so he can sneak a peek at Finnick's face. The lovesick nincompoop looks like he's about to melt into a puddle. But if there's ever a moment for someone to look stupidly happy, it's at his own wedding.

Finnick and Annie look toward Mom, who seems self-assured, as if she's officiated a hundred weddings before. Her dress, handmade by Cinna, is simple and black so as not to overshadow the bride and groom, but still elegant and flattering, and a sky blue shrug brings out the color of her eyes. However, Ashton likes to think that it's his mother herself, not the dress, who gives her such quiet but confident presence. Mom smiles at them both before beginning. "Welcome, all. Thank you for being here today: friends, family, well-wishers, and those with us in spirit. And before we begin, we would like to acknowledge their spiritual presence, that of the groom's family and the bride's family. They were taken from us too soon—"

_By the Capitol._ Finnick's family boat and its occupants simply never returned one day. Annie's parents were found dead in their home, poisoned by carbon monoxide, and it was only by chance that Annie herself wasn't with them.

"—but we feel their joy and blessings carried from across the sea to this bride and groom on this day. For today, Annie and Finnick will make the ultimate commitment to each other, the ultimate expression of love. Together, they will weather sea-storms that batter their home and crashing waves that threaten their shores. Together, they will build strong boats that will serve them, their children, and their children's children well. Together, they will harvest the bounties of the sea, which, although wild, also nourishes, nurtures, and provides. If they must be apart, they will be the shimmering stars and the bright lighthouses that guide each other home."

Whoever originally came up with the wedding script in District 4 saw no reason to ease back on the maritime references, that's for sure. But rather than finding it cheesy, Ashton actually feels quite touched by the words, knowing how integral the sea is to the people of Four. In the past, when he and Finnick met up at the Capitol, sometimes during his darkest moments—because Ashton isn't the only one who has those—Finnick could only be soothed by the recording of ocean waves. Ashton doesn't have anywhere near the same reaction to the sight of coal dust, but then again, Finnick spent his childhood on boats while Ashton didn't spend his in the coal mines. And from what he's heard from Finnick, the sea gives you the illusion of freedom whereas the mines only make you feel trapped.

Finnick begins his vows. "By the life and strength that flood from the sea, may you love me. As the sailors follow the stars, may you follow me. As sea salt to the air, as wind to the sails, as joy to the heart, may your presence be with me, oh one that I love, 'til death comes to part us asunder." Annie repeats the traditional words perfectly; she usually doesn't do well with public speaking, but she makes it sound as easy as breathing at this moment.

Ashton helps drape a grass-woven net over the two, and he offers them the bowl of saltwater so they can touch each other's lips with its contents. Then Mom gives the final blessing:

"May the tide always bear you afloat,

May the waves rise to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back,

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

And the rain fall soft upon your boats.

May the sea bear you whither you desire,

May the horizon be within your reach,

May green be the sea you sail upon,

May blue be the skies above you,

And from this day forward,

May the joys of today be those of tomorrow." Mom sighs quietly, contently, and smiles again at Finnick and Annie. "It has been my honor to officiate your ceremony today. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Ashton can't resist. He wolf-whistles, causing Finnick to glare at him after he finally breaks apart from Annie. But the glare is rapidly wiped away by the groom's bliss, as his new marital state truly hits him. Then the dining hall is set aflutter by a flurry of motion, as they all rearrange themselves for the first dance.

Something is deposited into Ashton's arms. The person depositing is Johanna, and the thing deposited is his guitar. "Don't choke, Princess," she cheers before pushing him toward the middle of the floor. Ashton grimaces at her before remembering the cameras. He almost (deliberately) forgot that he's supposed to provide some musical accompaniment, too.

A stool waits for him near Madge's piano. Resigning himself, Ashton takes his seat and waits for the crowd to calm down. He would've been content to wait forever and pass into obscurity, but Finnick and Annie are excitedly looking his way, and before long, everyone else is watching him as well. _Camera face, camera face, camera face._

Ashton clears his throat as Cressida's film crew sits up to capture both his impending performance and the newlyweds' first dance. One guy hops over with a sound boom, so every single off-key note will be captured forever. _Camera face._ "Ladies and gentlemen," Ashton announces dramatically, figuring he might as well ham it up while he's up here, "I am pleased to be the first ever to present Mr. and Mrs. Finnick Odair." Then, after allowing himself a moment to rue that he didn't have time to warm up—but if he messes up because of that, it's everyone else's fault for rushing him—he begins to play.

Thankfully, the chords come out correctly. As Ashton strums the intro, Finnick and Annie begin to twirl around the circle cleared out for them. Just before the singing portion begins, Ash spots his parents in the crowd. Rather than watching the new husband and wife, they're watching him, with quietly proud smiles on their faces. The sight of them bolsters his nerves, and his voice is just as clear as the guitar's notes.

"_When the light begins to fade, and shadows fall across the sea, _

_One bright star in the evening sky, your love's light leads me on my way._"

There is a rush that he only ever feels when he makes music. Not even a drug-induced high at his most addicted can compare to the natural thrill in his veins that comes about because he is creating something beautiful, transcendent. He's so lost in the pull of the song that he almost doesn't notice Summer winding through the crowd until she's standing closest to him, swaying in time with his tempo. Ash flashes her a smile as he bursts into the last stanza.

"_When I leave and take the wing, and find the land that fate will bring,_

_The brightest star in the evening sky is your love waiting far for me._"

The guests applaud as Finnick gives Annie one final spin. Ashton claps too, relieved that he didn't choke, before Finnick gestures grandly in his direction. "Give it up for the best man!" The applause is transferred to him, and Ash does his best to accept it graciously. To his relief, everyone quickly becomes distracted by the glasses of apple cider being passed around for the toast.

And then Ashton remembers who's supposed to give the toast, and that relief disappears. As best man and the only one in the wedding party, he's supposed to give the big speech about the couple. _I really should've charged them for all this labor._ Then again, what would he have demanded for his pay? It's not like he's in particular need of the credits that they use as currency in Thirteen. As much as Coin may hate them, his family's material needs are all amply provided for.

Speaking of Coin…

Ashton feels the prepared best man speech in his hand, written mainly by Coin and her cronies, chock full of resistance-friendly platitudes and other words designed to further enflame the rebels. Not a single word was chose by Ashton himself, and not a single word about Finnick and Annie is what he actually feels about the couple. _Pah._ Before he can think better of it, Ashton's eyes dart around the room and quickly find Coin. Their gazes meet. Then Ashton deliberately crumples the paper in his fist, subtly enough that the cameras and other audience members pay no mind, but clearly enough that she notices. And then, to slather the icing on top of the cake, he winks at her.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Ash clinks a fork against his glass of cider, drawing everyone's attention. "I would like to say a few words about our beloved bride and groom," he announces, trying not to look overly gleeful.

"Somebody stop him!" Finnick implores the crowd, sparking them into laughter.

"You asked me to be best man, now you have to deal with the whole package," Ash snarks. Meanwhile, his mind is rapidly conjuring up words to say. He was originally going to go along with Coin's prepared speech, out of laziness if nothing else, so he hasn't really thought through it before now. Well, people always say he's better at thinking on his feet than following through with nicely prepared plans. Time to see how much merit their words possess. "Annie," he begins, "you're obviously the better half of this couple." Cue chuckles, as Finnick narrows his eyes and Annie hides a smile. "I'm sure you would rather have had this wedding at home in Four, where it could've taken place along the shore as it should have been, and those who care for you and this schmuck in your district could have been there. But I must confess, in a way, I'm grateful for the events that led to us all being here in Thirteen instead, because otherwise I don't think I would have had the opportunity to get to know you. I've known _of_ you for years, because of this idiot in love mooning over you all the time, but you know Finnick at least as well as I do. You have to take everything he says with a few lumps of sea salt."

"Hey!"

Ashton continues, ignoring Finnick's indignant outburst. "I mean, it was difficult to believe that the breathtakingly beautiful, kind, courageous, sweet, clever, all-around perfect mermaid-siren-angel-princess-sea nymph whom Finnick waxed lyrically about could actually exist. But you know what? You really are something special, Annie Cresta. You really are beautiful, kind, courageous, sweet, and clever, and you're as close to perfection as Finnick's ever going to get in this lifetime. And you certainly look like a mermaid-siren-angel-princess-sea nymph today. So, in conclusion, you are _far_ too good for Finnick. But since he's so head over heels for you that he's guaranteed to worship you for the rest of your lives, I let him get hitched to you. Just this once."

"You _let_ me get hitched?"

"As for you, Odair." Ashton rounds on him. "I've known _you_ for much too long. I know all of your foibles and whimsies and defects. Since it's your wedding day, I'll be nice and I won't enumerate them in front of this audience. Instead, I'll talk about your good characteristics, few though they may be."

"Thanks, Abernathy," Finnick drawls.

"First: you are a good friend. I knew you would be when we met during your Victory Tour, and you decided to join me in my drinking instead of turning your snooty Career nose up at me. Uh…" Ashton turns to the nearest camera and wags his finger. "Not that I advocate underage drinking. We're terrible examples. Don't be like us, kids." He sneaks a glance at his parents. Mom and Dad look exasperated but indulgent; they of all people know best how early he got started with his bad habits. Obviously they didn't approve, but his revelation comes at no surprise to them. "Anyway, I think it's best if I censor a few things, for the sake of tender ears." Ash looks pointedly at Summer, who grins. Hopefully, she doesn't wholly realize what he's talking about. "Finnick, you and I have witnessed many of each other's worst moments, and we've shared a lot of the same adversities. We've argued, we've brooded together, we've seen each other's manly tears. And through it all, I never doubted that you would leave me to struggle alone. And I know that you do no less for Annie. I expect that you will come to vastly prefer her company to mine—who wouldn't? And I am perfectly okay with that, because I know you will be there for her through all of life's ups and downs, just as she will be there for you, just as you have been there for me all these years. If I must hand over my status as your best friend to someone else, I gladly do so to Annie.

"Second: you are a good brother." Here, Ashton has to swallow past the lump in his throat. "It's no secret that I have struggled to stand alongside my family, my younger siblings, in the last few years. But you were there. You protected them, you supported them, you brightened their lives. You took such good care of them in my stead, and I have no doubt that you will do the same with your own family one day. Annie will be a loving, compassionate mother, and you will be a loving, compassionate father. Your future children can ask for no better parents.

"Third, and lastly: you are a good man. To be a good person is a difficult claim for us Victors. But I readily name you among the top three who most deserve such a title, alongside my parents. The world makes such a big fuss about _great_ men—and perhaps you're one of those too, I dunno, I think you're kind of lame, if I'm honest—but you are something much more important than that. A good man. One I am honored to call my friend and brother, and one who, despite everything I've whinged on about, in the end is very much worthy of the beautiful, kind, courageous, sweet, clever, perfect mermaid-siren-angel-princess-sea nymph standing beside you. Congratulations, you two. You guys deserve every happiness in the world." Ashton raises his glass. "To Finnick and Annie Odair."

His toast is enthusiastically echoed. Ash half-smiles as he sips his cider, pleasantly surprised to find himself not at all wishing it were alcoholic. Then he notices Finnick heading his way. "Abernathy…"

Ashton eyes him warily, as those around them watch curiously. "Yes?"

"C'mere." Too late, Ash realizes what Finnick plans, and he struggles in vain as the Victor from Four grabs him and plants a noisy kiss on his cheek. "You big sap."

"Yech!" Ashton makes a show of wiping his face. "I feel so violated."

"Hey. Loads of people would pay a fortune for a kiss from Finnick Odair. You got one for free." He squeezes Ash on the shoulder. "Thank you."

"What, for enduring your slobber?" Ashton complains.

"For the song. And for that speech. I was afraid it was going to be some propaganda spiel prepared for you. Glad it wasn't."

"You're welcome," Ash says quietly with a faint smile. Then, louder, "Now go away, you idiot. Your wife is waiting over there by herself." Once he sees that Finnick has reattached himself to Annie's side, Ashton shakes his head and stands up from his stool. Madge is back at the piano, playing for those who have decided to hop onto the dance floor. If Ashton recalls correctly, there are a few musically-inclined locals of Thirteen who will relieve her momentarily. In the meantime, though, Madge is being kept in good company with Gale, who's helping her flip the pages of her sheet music. Katniss and Peeta are absent, but Ashton knows right about now is when they're supposed to be fetching the fancy wedding cake that Peeta made.

His survey of the dining hall is interrupted by a tug on his pants. Ashton looks down and is met by Summer's upturned face. "Will you dance with me?" she asks hopefully.

He'll never admit it, but his heart just about melts then and there.

"Yeah. Just gimme a sec to put this guitar down—"

"Give it here." Johanna appears, holding out her hands expectantly. Ashton grins and hands the instrument over.

"Do you know how to dance?" he asks his sister. Summer purses her lips and shakes her head. "That's okay. Stand on my feet." Slowly, carefully, Ash leads them onto the dance floor, turning in steady circles as Summer clings to his hands. Before long, she's giggling at the sensation of spinning around, and Ash finds himself laughing as well, basking in the delight on his sister's face.

Then, for a second, instead of six-year-old Summer standing on his feet, it's six-year-old Ember, relentless in her desire to dance even after she tired out their father. Of course, the experiences aren't identical, one difference being that Ash was a lot shorter when he danced with Emmy. But Summer's bubbles of laughter sound almost the exact same as Emmy's back then.

Something catches Ashton's eye and distracts him from his reminisces. "Look, Summy. It's Mom and Dad."

Their parents have joined the dancers, sedately turning about the floor. As Ashton and Summer watch, Mom whispers something in Dad's ear, which makes him bark in laughter. He mutters something in response, causing Mom to lightly smack his shoulder, but she doesn't look all that annoyed. Their easiness around each other speaks of years of marriage, and the natural flow of their movements speaks of almost as many years of being dance partners, but it's the looks they exchange that arrest Ashton. As jaded and embittered he might be about love and his own prospects, it is love that undeniably fills the space between his parents.

Although his memories have greatly blurred, Ashton remembers living in a time, long ago, when his parents still struggled to love each other. They lived and worked very well together, no question about that, and they certainly liked each other. But love was still something they had to work for. Ash doesn't recall the exact moment that like crossed the line into love, but maybe that's okay. Maybe it wasn't something big and dramatic, like their pseudo-love story during their Games. Maybe it was just two people steadily chipping away at each other's walls until they could see each other without dissimulation.

For the first time, Ashton wishes his opinions about love weren't so embittered.

Suddenly, Mom and Dad are in front of them. "Mind if I cut in?" Without waiting for an answer, Dad swipes Summer and whisks her away, the girl's giggles fading away as they mosey to another corner of the dance floor.

Ash blinks at them and looks at his mother. "I think Dad just stole my dance partner."

"No, he traded. Well?" Mom raises an eyebrow.

With a smile and a gallant bow, Ashton offers his hand. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Abernathy?"

The corners of her eyes crinkle. His mother does not require standing on his feet, and Ash finds that he needs to bend over a lot less than with Summer. Although he can't recall ever dancing with his mother since he was a child, their feet follow each other fluidly, with few hiccups.

"You dance like your father," Mom remarks.

"I'll assume that's a compliment."

"He doesn't look it, stocky and broad-shouldered as he is, but your father is a surprisingly good dancer. You remind me a lot of him."

"I thought Ceddy was supposed to look at Dad."

"Cedric definitely got your father's looks. But appearances aside, you are by far more of your father's son. You and Rain both take after him a lot, now that I mention it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you all think you can hide things from me."

Ashton thinks of the very important thing they are hiding from their parents, and he smiles guilelessly. "Ah, come on, Mom. You know—"

"You two are planning something. You, Finnick, Johanna, Madge and her friends. Don't think I didn't notice. Or your father, either."

Hm. Ash suspects he won't be talking his way out of this one. You never can with Mom. "Mom," he says seriously, dropping all pretenses, "there are some things you're better off not knowing about. For now, at least. You'll learn about everything soon enough."

"Am I better off not knowing because you know I'll think it's too dangerous or stupid and try to stop you?" she asks dryly.

Well, partially, yes. But he's not going to say that to her, now is he? "Neither you nor Dad would be able to help us enough at this point in time to justify burdening you."

"I'm sure I've been burdened worse."

"Probably," Ashton agrees. "But that's all the more reason to give you a break."

"I've been worrying my mind like crazy over what you kids are up to. I don't see how that's giving me a break."

"Because you'd worry even more if you knew."

Mom stares him down. Suddenly, Ash feels like he's ten again and has eaten the entire apple pie she just made for a dinner party, and he has the intense need to fidget and shuffle his feet. _No. Stay strong. Don't give in._ So with great effort, he manages to gaze back at her, although he feels some sweat beading up near his temples.

At last, Mom decides he really won't cave in, and she sighs. "This might be too much to hope for, but at least please tell me that you really aren't planning something dangerous and stupid."

"Of course not." Depending on your definition of dangerous and stupid. "I promise, Mom, you and Dad are bound to find out about everything soon. Just try not to worry too much about us, okay? We'll be fine."

"The more you tell me not to worry, the more I do." They reach the edge of the dance floor and step to the side. Mom raises her hand to touch his cheek. "Whatever it is you children have in mind, promise me you'll be careful."

"Yes, Mom."

"Promise me, Ashton Abernathy."

"_I promise._"

She looks warningly at him upon hearing his exasperated tone, but she lets it go. "I'm going to find your father and Summer. It's almost her bedtime. You stay here and enjoy yourself."

"Goodnight, Mom." He pecks her cheek and watches her rejoin Dad, who's holding a sleepy Summer, and the three of them quietly make their exit. Ashton wanders over to the refreshment table, which doesn't hold anything particularly fancy, nor is it overly full. Still, he snags a few crackers.

"You looked so sweet with your mom and sister. I can feel the cavities forming."

"Stalking me now, are you, Bananas?" Ashton pops his last cracker in his mouth and turns to look at Johanna. "Is this a roundabout way of saying you'd like a dance with me as well?"

"Ha!" Johanna snorts. "If we do that, Plutarch will be planning our wedding next."

"Ew. Gross." Huh. Those crackers were actually half-decent. Ashton selects a few more. "So what are you doing here, then?"

"Just wanted to let you know that your song was a bit pitchy in places, but overall not bad."

"Thanks for your rousing support."

"You can always count on me to be brutally honest, Cinderella."

They watch as Finnick and Annie take over the center of the dance floor again. Madge, who has been relieved from her piano duties, is shyly taking a turn with an equally awkward Gale. Neither of them seems to really know what they're doing. "Johanna," Ashton says quietly, "what do you think about love?"

"Overrated."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I. In my experience, all love ever does is hurt you and those around you. It's not worth it, and it never ends happily. No, thank you."

"But do you think you still have the ability to love?"

"Does it matter? I'm not planning on it ever again."

Ashton leans back so his head rests against the wall. "Why do you think it is that on the one hand, the arena produces people like Finnick and Annie, who undoubtedly believe in the power of love and all that mush, while on the other hand, the arena also produces people like us?"

Johanna is quiet, and for a few moments they watch the happy mass of people celebrating. "It's not that the arena produces two kinds of people," she finally says. "It's that Finnick, Annie, and their lot are more resilient than we are. It changes us all, but they manage to hold on to who they were before better than we do." A morose silence falls over them, but only for a few seconds before Johanna elbows him hard. "Why the hell are you talking about this bullshit anyway?"

"We're at a wedding. Isn't it natural to talk about love?"

Johanna's response is interrupted by the long-awaited arrival of the cake. Ashton has to admit, Peeta certainly outdid himself. Nevertheless, he finds himself without an appetite any longer. As the best man, he should probably be up there as Finnick and Annie cut the first slice, but he finds himself dreading the attention that would befall him. He's done enough today. And the newlyweds don't look like they're missing him much.

Instead, Ashton reaches over to the refreshment table for another glass of cider. He's in the middle of taking a drink when Johanna abruptly asks, "Wanna go make out?"

"_Herk._" He chokes, and his lungs forcibly eject the cider that went down the wrong pipe. "You...have horrible timing."

"I think it's quite good timing. So? How about it?"

"Are you serious?" Ashton demands as he dabs at the stains on his shirt with a napkin.

"Um, yeah. Why not? It's not like we have anything better to do."

"Ah, I see. You only want to make out for lack of anything else to do. How flattering." Ashton gives up on his shirt and eyes Johanna warily. "Come on, there's gotta be a reason you brought up liplocking in particular. Spill, Bananas."

She shrugs. "Weddings might not make me feel lovey-dovey, but they do make me feel horny, and it's been a while. Gale seems to have finally gotten off his ass when it comes to your cousin, so my options are limited."

"Your compliments could use some work."

"Brutal honesty, remember?"

Ashton sighs, but despite himself, he's actually considering it. After all, why not? They're both adults. They like each other. Johanna is physically attractive. They're both the sort of people who won't let fun time get in the way of their friendship. There's no societal taboo or prohibitive law or any of those other cliched restrictions that crop up in forbidden love melodramas. "Why the hell not. Let's get out of here."

* * *

The wedding would be a lot more fun if Rain could actually see it. Granted, she did get to _hear_ it: Mom officiating, Finnick and Annie's vows, Madge's playing, Ash's singing and speech. But it's when she has to lean over and whisper questions in Cinna's ear about describing Annie's dress again, or the look on Finnick's face as she approaches, or if Ash looked at peace while playing guitar like he used to when they were little, that she keenly feels the absence of her sight.

Rain feels uncomfortably exposed as she sits alone, while Cinna has run off to fetch something for her. Portia was whisked away ages ago to chat to some of the guests about her part in creating Finnick's suit. Mom, Dad, and Summer have already left. Finnick and Annie probably barely have the time to breathe. She's completely lost track of Ash since he finished his song. Ordinarily, she wouldn't feel uneasy at a wedding, as if someone might take advantage of her alone state. Then again, ordinarily she would be able to see and defend herself.

She hears the light clink of a dish being set on the table, right beside her resting hand. "Is someone there?"

"Cal. I was under the impression you asked Cinna to get me." Caligula Sunsworth sits down heavily beside her.

"I did. I just wasn't sure who it was."

"Ah. Right." Silence. "That's cake on that plate, if you wanted any."

"Thank you." Rain isn't in the mood for cake, but she won't mention that. "How have you been, Cal?"

Her ex-boyfriend—honestly, they probably didn't even date long enough for him to have qualified as a boyfriend—clears his throat. "I've been okay. Living here has been pretty spartan compared to back home, but you know, sacrifice for the cause and all that. Not that, er, my sacrifice is significant compared to...others." Silence again. "I just put my foot in my mouth, didn't I?"

"You did," Rain agrees. "I thought you were supposed to be smooth and suave?"

"Eh, I always flub everything up around you. You have that kind of effect."

"Oh." Rain shifts uncomfortably.

"I didn't, uh, mean anything weird by that. I swear. Not trying to come on to you or anything. We ended things ages ago, no point trying to revive things best left in the past." The sound of a foot tapping anxiously on the floor. "So, how are you, then? And the kid."

"We're fine. Everybody's healthy in this corner."

"It's a girl, right?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

A chuckle. "Met that hotshot Gamemaker fiance of yours once, back in the Capitol."

Oh, no. Rain dreads to imagine how _that_ meeting went. "Please tell me you two played nice."

"Well...if we're being honest, _he_ tried."

"You deliberately antagonized him?" Rain guesses, aghast.

"Couldn't resist. It was too fun. The best guys to poke at are the ones who try to look polished all the time. And you know, the two of us might be ancient history, but we were friends before we tried dating. Can't blame me for wanting to vet your fiance. It's not like I stopped caring."

"I appreciate your concern," she says wryly.

"So, what was it that you wanted me for?"

Rain clasps her hands together. "I need your help."

"...Is it too much to hope for that you're asking for the 'help me move stuff around' kind of help, or 'help me open this bottle' kind of help?"

"I wish those were my biggest problems." She laughs quietly. "You flew us all out of the Capitol on your hovercraft, didn't you?"

"Aye."

"Do you still have access to it?"

"Of course. No one keeps me from my baby." Cal sighs. "You want me to fly someone somewhere unauthorized, don't you?"

"I don't have anyone else who can help me."

"Hm." Cal picks up the slice of cake. "Alright, I know how these things work. Don't ask too many questions, only know what you need to know. Where am I going?"

"So you'll help?"

"This is important, right?"

"So important," Rain whispers.

"Then yeah. You've...had it rough, to say the least. You deserve some backup. So, where am I going?"

"Just outside of District 12. The people you're taking will point out the exact place. There are five of them. It's just a quick drop-off. If things go well, you won't have to pick them up."

"Mm-hmm." His chair creaks as he sits back. "It's going to have to be soon, if you want me to pilot. Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to sit on my ass all day and do nothing, so they're sending me out soon to fly supplies in and out of battle zones."

"We'll make it work." Finnick's honeymoon will be cut short, but he won't say no. The Victor from Four seemed almost as determined as Ashton to wait in Twelve and look for Ember and the others. "Thank you, Cal."

"Ah, this is nothing. Not compared to everything Mr. Head Gamemaker is doing for you and your kid." Cal stands up. "For all that I dislike pompous schmucks like him, I have to admit, you picked a good one. I really hope it turns out well for you." He walks away, his footsteps rapidly swallowed up by all the other noise in the dining hall.

* * *

"Would you like more stuffed grape leaves, Sen?"

"No, thank you." Seneca smiles politely at Drusilla.

"Full already? I've barely seen you eat a thing tonight!" Her laughter sounds like bells. "You know the emetics are right there."

"And you know I don't partake, Drusilla." In his younger years, Seneca had given them a try, like everyone else around him. But he soon concluded that he simply didn't like the sensation of throwing up just for the sake of eating more things to throw up. Or throwing up period.

"Fine, fine. Have another drink, then." Drusilla swipes a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and passes it to him.

Seneca accepts it graciously, calculating when he'll have the opportunity to surreptitiously deposit it, untouched, with another server. He's been doing it all night to give the impression he's several drinks in, when in truth he can count on one hand the number of sips he's had and still have fingers to spare.

"Perhaps it's just as well that you don't overindulge," Drusilla says. "We wouldn't want you to be indisposed when the president makes his announcement."

"And I suppose you know what that announcement consists of, Ms. Rosebrook?"

"How could I? It's supposed to be a secret," she answers with a wink.

"Well, we all know that secrets are the least secret thing to you." It's so easy, so dangerously easy, so alarmingly easy to fall back on the sly, flirtatious banter they once shared, before everything went downhill. He and Rain have their teasing moments, but they tend to coexist in companionable, comfortable silence more than anything. But Seneca has to tuck all thoughts of Rain away, lest his longing for the woman he really wishes to be by his side causes his impeccable mask to crack.

Drusilla smooths his collar. "Hmm, indeed. I certainly know all of yours, don't I?'

He certainly hopes not, otherwise it'll be his head on that silver platter beside them instead of an assortment of macaroons.

She leans up, lips close to his ear. "So, would you like to know the secret, Sen?"

"Hmm…" The thing is, Seneca already knows what Snow is going to announce. The president told him himself, so Seneca will look appropriately gracious and proud when he is named the new Minister of Aediles. Back when they were dating, when Drusilla offered to let slip secrets to him, the price was often a kiss or something of the sort. As much as Seneca is determined to play his role as the complacent Capitolite, he just can't bring himself to cross any romantic or sexual lines. Drusilla has offered him several opportunities already, but each time he tries to objectively calculate any benefits, all he can see in his mind's eye is Rain.

Thankfully, he is saved from having to decline Drusilla again when another partygoer by the name of Cassius approaches them. No doubt the contents of Snow's announcement have circulated among the appropriate ears, and those in-the-know are eager to win over the goodwill of the new Minister of Aediles. Perhaps his is not the highest position in the president's cabinet, but it is still a cabinet position.

Drusilla's fingers are wrapped around his arm as they speak to Cassius. Seneca imagines that, to an outsider, they look every bit the golden couple, like they did before. Although odds are Drusilla is being bribed by Snow to get close to him, he is sure that she also genuinely wants to get back together with him. After all, "the Minister of Aediles" is a nice way to introduce one's partner.

"And all those shortages in the Districts! You can barely get your hands on a good lobster these days, you know. At any price. It makes all of my clients extremely unhappy." Cassius, the owner of a high-end catering company, shakes his head. "The only thing we do have in reliable supply is wine, and that's only because the Capitol has held onto its production. If you want to do it right, do it the Capitol way, I always say."

"Doesn't the Capitol have its own stock of food supplies in case of bad harvests and turnouts?" Seneca comments, as if off-handedly.

"Well, yes, but _frozen_ lobster? Good grief! You might as well cook a filet mignon well-done." Then Cassius lowers his voice. "I shouldn't be saying this, but I've heard from my sources that they're beginning to print ration cards. Can you believe it? _Ration cards!_ I thought we left those behind with the Dark Days. How am I supposed to run my company on ration cards? How am I supposed to _live_ on ration cards?"

Seneca imagines that one Capitolite's rations would probably be more than enough to feed a family of four, sans emetics.

"Adversity makes us stronger in the end, doesn't it?" Drusilla says sympathetically. "We simply have to endure these hardships. They will make the good times seem all the brighter. Besides, a cunning businessman like you, Cassius, I have a hard time imagining you'd have difficulty overcoming a trifling obstacle like ration cards."

The two of them commence a poorly veiled conversation about black markets in the Capitol, with Seneca quietly absorbing everything and chiming in when appropriate. One of Cassius's colleagues is lured into the discussion at some point. Before they know it, the sound of tapping on a glass rings throughout the ballroom, and everyone falls silent.

Snow stands dramatically at the top of the stairs, drink in hand. "I would like to thank everyone for coming tonight. We are experiencing some difficult times, but by fighting back with friendship and mirth, we shall prevail." Murmured agreements ripple through the room. "Still, I am sure you have all been speculating about the reason for this night's festivities. I shall keep you in suspense no longer. You all know our beloved Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane." The room's ambiance does not change a bit, but Seneca feels as if he is suddenly standing beneath a spotlight. "Despite the frustrations he has suffered, personally and professionally, he has endured everything with all the stoicism, loyalty, and grace as befits an upstanding citizen. I have no doubt that his brilliance would have ensured a Games like no other, had circumstances been otherwise. We may have been deprived of such a spectacle, but there is no reason to deprive ourselves of what we can reap from Seneca's abilities. Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present you all with our new Minister of Aediles, Seneca Crane."

The applause is loud and enthusiastic. Drusilla squeezes his arm before allowing him to leave her side. As Seneca makes his way toward the stairs, people congratulate him, patting his back and shaking his hand. He smiles at them all, accepting their compliments heartily. Once he ascends the stairs, Snow shakes his hand. The president looks amiable enough, a slight smile on his face, but his eyes speak of a more complex sentiment. Perhaps smugness over making his "lapdog" even more indebted to him. Perhaps irritation that he has to resurrect the position of Minister of Aediles at all, after decades of pseudo-peace. Perhaps, most dangerously, distrust. Perhaps all of this is a ruse to draw Seneca closer, to trick him into lowering his defenses.

"Would you like to say a few words, Seneca?" Snow queries.

Seneca nods shortly and turns to the expectant audience. "I don't want to take you away from your merriment for too long, so this will be brief. I am honored to be given this position, and I promise to fulfill the duties of my office to the best of my abilities. My fellow citizens will have little cause for concern and distress in the coming weeks. Thank you."

Snow raises his glass in a toast, and everyone else follows suit. The president studies him as they drink, and Seneca wipes away any remaining smudges on his mask. This is a game he cannot afford to lose.

* * *

**I took the wedding lines from traditional Irish and Celtic wedding blessings and vows and such (according to the Googly), with a few twists to make them more maritime.**

**The song that Ashton sings is "The Soft Goodbye," which I believe is an original by the group Celtic Woman. I try to imagine YouTube singer Peter Hollens singing the song when I picture Ashton performing, voice-wise.**

* * *

**ANNOUNCEMENT: The other week, I started posting the one-year anniversary mini-fic project that I've talked about! It's called "How I Met Your Career," a collection of scenes in various AU universes about how Ember and Cato could have met. There are a few already up and I have several more in the works. ***I take requests*** And I basically post when a) I have the time and b) I have the inspiration or someone's given me an idea and c) I notice that people are still interested.**

**I haven't been able to write much of anything this past week, since we're in the final grind of the semester and I don't have the time to do anything except study, write essays, and stress out. But HIMYC chapters are super-short, so hopefully I'll be able to get another one out soon.**

* * *

**As for this story, I only have one more completed chapter written after this, and I've barely begun writing the one following. Hopefully I'll be able to get more writing done during break, but...we'll see. I have a feeling I'm going to have more commitments than I'm imagining right now.**

**Anyway, please review! As usual, I'll send you a short preview of the next chapter if you review within a week of this posting. Thanks for reading!**


	31. Chapter 31

**Thank you very much to ForeverTeamEdward13, martatheinvisiblegal, Mely-the-Mockingjay, MissVolturiKingsfan, iiMuffinsaur, vampluver19, Randommmfanatic, lovewords (who has been a phenomenal reader and reviewing constantly as they make their way through the story), and Ro-Lee for your wonderful reviews!**

**Guest 1: Ahhh, it always warms my cold, dead heart when readers say they're very avid about clicking on updates straight away. :3 I'm glad you like Finnick/Ashton's BroTP, since they've definitely become some of my favorites. I'll be doing my best to write after exams and such, and it means a lot to me to hear your encouragement! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**RueJabberjay: I think someone suggested that the ship name be Camber, which is better than anything I've been able to come up with so that's what I've been using. :) **

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* * *

Thirty-One:

"Do you ever wonder about the world beyond Panem?"

Cato mulls over my question. "I've thought about it once or twice, but it's not something I contemplate on a regular basis. I mean, what's the point? I never thought I would ever leave Panem or be in a position that would involve me thinking about the rest of the world."

Too true. Most Panemes are born, live, and die in the same district, all without never having left it. Even the few exceptions, like Victors, Peacekeepers, low- to mid-level officials, and Capitolites who feel like being touristy in the Districts, are generally unconcerned with the world that isn't Panem. But it's always been obvious to me that Panem is not the whole world. Mom and Dad's little collection of banned books speak of times and places before there was even a Panem. "Do you suppose there even is a rest of the world? Or did everyone else die long ago during the catastrophes that brought Panem about?"

"Hmm." As Cato thinks it over, the thumb of his hand holding mine rubs circles into my palm. It's far from the first time he's done so, but a tingle courses from my hand up my arm. "I know enough that the world was once far bigger than just Panem. Even if the catastrophes were really as terrible as they say, I find it hard to believe that _everyone_ outside of Panem was killed."

"Then...why do you suppose they let something like the Hunger Games happen? Because—you understand now it's just not right."

"Maybe it's not an issue of they don't want to but they can't do anything. Maybe they can't go up against the Capitol, or maybe they have their own problems. After all, we know that shit is going down in the Districts, especially the ones where any battle lines have been drawn, but we can't do anything about that right now because we have our own concerns."

What could be a bigger problem than having your children massacred in an annual death match? But I'm probably being unfair. The rebellion is important, but like Cato said, we're focused on our day-to-day survival. Perhaps other people in the world are only scraping by as well, or they have their own dictators to be afraid of.

These musings of mine were prompted by the nearby, almost visible northern border of Panem as we inch along the realms of District 11. Consulting his map, Cedric estimated that the border is not too many miles away from our route. It wouldn't be impossible to detour over and see what lies on the other side, see if the Capitol has erected a fence or a force field, or if there's nothing stopping us from leaving the horrors of Panem behind us. But I think we've had enough excitement so far on our journey that we don't need to seek out yet another adventure. And if we reach Thirteen, if we win the war, if we overcome the Capitol, there will be time afterwards to look north, south, east, west, wherever we may have neighbors or unknown frontiers.

A distant, almost humming noise catches our attention. Cato and I exchange wary looks, and we halt, stopping the column. "Cedric, what's ahead of us?" I ask.

He peers down at the GPS. "We're almost about to hit the southern tip of a lake. It looks like we can scoot around it."

"Irrigation pumps." Thresh's deep voice causes us to turn around. "Big machinery to get lake water to the fields."

Cato looks ahead in the direction of the sound. "Will there be people?"

"Not usually. System is automated. They only send out technicians occasionally."

"It would be safer for a few people to run ahead and make sure the coast is clear," I suggest.

Thresh and Clove volunteer to scout ahead. They're not gone for long before they return, looking no more perturbed than when they left. "Just a bunch of pipes and machines making a din," Clove announces.

Still, we proceed with caution, especially since the area immediately around the lake is lacking cover. But according to Ced, there's no way we can circle north around the lake, and even if we were stupid enough to try to cross the lake—not that we have any means for that—it would be no less shielded than walking around the southern edge. The humming noise grows louder as we approach, and the sheer size of the pipes takes me aback. Their width is so great, I might be able to stand up inside them. All to be expected, I guess, considering they're supposed to help water District 11's many crops. Or might the citizens of Eleven be rebelling, like Finch said was happening in Five, like Javi hinted might happen in Ten if conditions were right? The Capitol would be loath to lose their breadbasket, though, so even if Eleven did protest, I imagine the Capitol would somehow still manage to force people to work the fields.

My gaze drifts toward the irrigation pumps. _The rebellion is important, but we're focused on our day-to-day survival._

"Thresh?" He turns at the sound of my voice. "What do you think of Eleven's potential to rebel?"

"I'd be surprised if they aren't already."

"Would it be harder for you guys than other Districts, do you think?"

"Yeah. We're kept on a very tight leash. And we have a big population. Even if most rebel, there are still enough people who would keep working for the Capitol that the Capitol wouldn't be overly affected."

"Do you know if Eleven has other sources of water besides this lake?"

Thresh looks at me curiously. "Yes. Plenty for drinking and that stuff. But we mostly depend on the lake for farming."

"What would happen if you aren't able to use water from the lake?"

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "It'd be hard to raise crops. Capitol would feel it for sure."

Cato's hand on my shoulder turns me to face him. "Ember, you're not actually considering this, are you?"

"Considering what?" I deflect, cogs whirring in my mind.

"We're supposed to lie low, remember? Disrupting Eleven's ability to farm is definitely not lying low."

"I know."

"If this is because of the conversation we just had, it's—the situations are different, Ember."

"How so?"

"We're only twenty-four people. No, twenty-four _kids._ No one in their right mind would expect us to do anything about the Districts at the moment."

"Just because we're not expected to doesn't mean we shouldn't, especially if we have such a perfect opportunity."

"How is this perfect? We have no idea if the 'occasional technician' will catch us, if the Capitol will send people to check out the problem—which they will. And when they do, we'll be caught for sure, because there's no way we can outrace anyone from the Capitol actively pursuing us."

"What if we aren't pursued?" I counter. "What if we make it so they don't suspect anyone's been messing around, if they think a problem arose on its own, or some natural damage happened to the pumps?"

"And how would we do that?" Cato challenges.

I rapidly conjure the possibilities in my mind. Poison the water—but with what? Nothing we have on the sled or can find would be of sufficient quantity to contaminate _that _much water. Mess with the pumps—but how long before a technician fixes it back up? Make the pipes burst—but how? I don't think anyone in the pack has experience with plumbing. And the pack. I can't ask them all to humor me because I feel..._guilty_ for not doing anything about the rebellion. I can't ask them all to risk capture, even death, because I want to make a move against the Capitol. I promised them to do my best to get them to Thirteen. So that's what I have to do, not play vigilante.

"I don't know," I admit. "You're right. Let's...let it be."

Cato looks relieved as he wraps his arm around me. "You'll have your chance to deal a blow against the Capitol. The time just isn't now."

He's being sensible. Listening to him is sensible. But I can't help the feeling of regret as we pass then leave the irrigation pumps behind us. They're _right there._ But I remind myself that it's more than just me involved. Maybe if it were just me, I would go for it. But I can't risk the pack. I can't risk Ced. I can't risk Cato.

I start to feel a little better about our inaction.

It isn't until we stop for lunch and I instinctively count heads that I realize Thresh is missing. At first I think I just missed him, before I realize it's almost impossible to just _miss_ a big guy like Thresh. So I start asking around, but no one, not Rue, not Marvel, not Clove, seems to know where Thresh disappeared off to.

Then Thierry, the boy from Three who has been as fanatical as Ced about getting a junk radio that they found in Alasdar's hoard to work, pales when I question him. "Um...I dunno, haven't seen him since breakfast."

I narrow my eyes. "Are you sure about that, Thierry?"

"Uh…"

"You don't sound very sure."

He gulps. "He may have, eh, said something earlier about staying behind for a bit. But he promised he would catch up to us soon, I swear!"

"Whatever for?"

"He didn't say." Thierry looks down at his feet.

Suspicion grows. "But you do know something."

"No, I really don't know why he wanted to hang back, I promise! But he… He…"

"Thresh what?" I prompt.

"...He asked me for the grenades."

_Grenades._ I almost forgot about those. Rain included them in the crate she hid in the Cornucopia just for us—or rather, Cedric and me. Thierry is supposed to be some kind of explosives expert, so I let him hang onto them. Better to let someone who knows what he's doing watch over them than to stash them on the sled where they might fall, or where one of the younger kids could be playing around. But why would Thresh want the grenades?

Suddenly, I remember how Thresh was walking close behind Cato and me during our debate about doing something to the irrigation system, but I don't know when exactly he disappeared after that.

I hurry back to Cato. "Thresh took Thierry's grenades to blow up the pumps."

He's taken aback. "To _what?_ Thresh? You can't be serious. He's so—he's so—quiet."

"You said once that it's always the quiet ones," I remark, recalling when Finch seemingly abandoned us one day to go home. "He did seem to have a lot of thoughts about what Eleven's mentality would be concerning rebellion."

Cato violently rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Thresh isn't stupid. If he didn't hear us talking about why doing anything about the pumps would be dangerous, he should've figured it out himself. Why? Why would he do this?"

I grab his hand before he can accidentally tear out his hair. "Maybe this is something very important to him. Something greater than his own well-being. Maybe he felt it would be more wrong _not_ to do anything than to risk the danger."

"But that's just it. Thresh wouldn't put the others in the pack in danger like this so carelessly."

"Was he so careless?" I question. "Thierry said Thresh was going to hang back and catch up with us later. It looks like Thresh is doing his best so that he'll be the only one to get in trouble, if anyone. If the Capitol realizes something is wrong, they would find him first."

Cato squeezes his eyes shut. "He still shouldn't have done it."

"Probably not. But...I can't really blame him, to be honest."

He slowly opens his eyes again. "Yeah. Me neither."

The rest of the day passes with no sign of Thresh. Rue begins to fret around mid-afternoon, voicing worries that he's run into trouble. Ced gallantly takes the opportunity to comfort her by waxing about Thresh's many qualities that will help him stay out of hot water. As I listen in on Ced chattering about how Thresh is sneakier and faster than he might look at first glance, I also begin to feel a bit more at ease. But not completely. Not even close. Even though Thresh is part of what Cedric apparently calls the Leaderboard, he's still pack. Which means I will worry about him.

Dinner time, and the whole pack is teeming with worry about Thresh. Even Clove looks mildly concerned over his absence. Then, as we're settling down for bed, a distant explosion pierces the night. Then another. Then another. We all are silent, tense, as we listen to the chain of sound: _boom, boom, boom_. I reach out and grip Cato's hand. I don't need to ask Cedric to look at the GPS to confirm that the noises are coming from the direction of the lake.

Rue whimpers quietly, but before I or anyone else can do anything, Ced swoops to the rescue, whispering in her ear until she no longer looks like she's going to tear up. A few of the others in the pack are muttering amongst themselves, and I hear snippets about how they're flashbacking to the fire-bombs.

Cato squeezes my hand. "We're doubling the watch tonight."

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Crane!"

_Not that toadie again._ Seneca dons a cordial smile before turning to face his addresser. "Hello, Tullius."

Tullius Stubhouse hurries to catch up with him and joins him on the walk to Seneca's office. "How are you on this fine day, Mr. Crane?"

Fine day? It doesn't really seem so after yet another of his many sleepless nights of late, mitigated only by a good glass of brandy. If he keeps it up at this rate, he's going to end up in a deeper hole than Ashton Abernathy, or Haymitch Abernathy in his early days. Rain will not be impressed if she finds out. "Well enough. Do you have anything to report to me, Tullius?"

The Ministry of Aediles is for the most part the same as the Gamemakers Council, only with its efforts channeled more toward reassuring the public during wartime rather than entertaining them during peacetime. So Gamemaker Headquarters have been converted to the Ministry's homebase, and most of the Gamemakers have been kept on as Aediles, still doing their job of keeping Capitolites distracted, but _from_ the violence rather than _with_ violence.

Tullius Stubhouse, unfortunately, was not one of the few whose contracts were terminated. The orange-skinned, green-haired man—who, coincidentally, bears a strong resemblance to a giant carrot—has been a Gamemaker since before Seneca got the job. For as long as Seneca can remember, Tullius has been sucking up to those in power, namely the Head Gamemaker. Seneca vividly recalls when he was the rookie and Tullius condescendingly simpered down at him, but once he got promoted, he could barely walk around for all that Tullius kept trying to kiss his boots. If Tullius weren't surprisingly good at his job, Seneca would have ejected him from the Council long ago.

Now, Seneca is fairly certain that Tullius is sloppily trying his hand at politics and intrigue. As Seneca is his immediate supervisor, Tullius is of course continuing to brown-nose, and harder than ever now that he's _Minister of Aediles,_ which is apparently more prestigious than Head Gamemaker. War makes everything more glamorous, he supposes. But Seneca is also reasonably confident that Tullius is reporting to Snow. Not that Seneca is giving him anything worthwhile to report, and not that Snow will waste much time on someone like Tullius, but now the carrot man grates on Seneca's nerves more than ever.

"Nothing concerning has cropped up overnight, has it, Mr. Crane?"

Seneca considers the possibility that Tullius is actually a very sharp man who is intentionally playing up the appearance of the clumsy idiot. But he finds it extremely difficult to wrap his mind around. "Nothing catastrophic, to be sure." In the case of a real emergency, an alert will wake up Seneca at any hour of the night. Not that he's sleeping in the first place.

"I would just like to assure you, Mr. Crane, that if you need anything, _anything_ at all, I'm always at hand to—" Tullius is silenced as Seneca's emergency pager goes off.

It must be the most fortuitously timed distress signal in history. "Excuse me, Tullius. I have to take care of this." They've just arrived in front of Seneca's office, and he quickly ducks inside, locking the door firmly behind him. A conference call is waiting for him, and he tunes in.

"—_discovered earlier this morning that the irrigation system in District 11 channeling water from the lake in Zone B3 to the majority of the fields has been sabotaged. It appears explosive devices were used. We expect to see large-scale crop failures soon due to insufficient water._"

The message is repeated several times as other high-ranking officials continue to phone in. It seems they're getting a live update, because the speaker rattles off more details as the situation is being investigated. Seneca rubs his beard as he ponders what will happen next. Crop failures undoubtedly mean grain shortages. The Capitol has significant caches in case of emergencies like this, but it will mean rations, which will make the people quite unhappy. It's Seneca's job to ensure they don't grow discontent, however, so the question is how to get them to dance to his tune. Distraction will not be a useful tool this time, since even the dullest Capitolite will notice the sudden sparseness of their plates. So no bread—which they now cannot afford to just hand out willy-nilly—and circuses.

Perhaps an attitude change, then. Get out propaganda about how adversity is only a temporary test of character, like Drusilla said, and that their accustomed prosperity, once returned to the Capitol, will seem all the more blessed. Or some poetic bullshit like that to get the Capitolites all swelled up with pride and patriotism.

Seneca's ear perks as the speaker discusses what is known about the perpetrators of the explosions—that is, nothing. The devices used seem to be Capitol-produced explosives, and there are no signs of the culprits, although they're planning to send out Peacekeepers and hovercrafts soon to investigate. Could this be the work of District 13? But then why would they use explosives made by the Capitol? They have their own weapons department, surely. And he's hard-pressed to imagine how vigilantes from Eleven would have gotten their hands on Capitol weaponry. Rogue Peacekeepers, then? Whoever was behind it, Seneca knows that Thirteen will want to know about the heavy blow dealt to the Capitol, so he needs to plan a visit to his family's tomb soon.

* * *

An exhausted but self-satisfied Thresh eventually makes his way back to us the next day. Immediately, half the pack—or so it seems—begins to berate him, me included. Mostly because he really shouldn't have done that, but also partly because I'm a little resentful that he didn't give me the chance to tag along.

Rue puts us all to shame. "How could you be so irresponsible?" Rue isn't tall enough to poke Thresh in the chest, so she jabs his belly instead. "You could have gotten hurt, or caught, or killed! This is the sort of thing you wouldn't let anyone else do, but you just went off and did it on your own. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Thresh looks plenty humbled by the twelve-year-old, although a spark of amusement lingers in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Rue. I didn't want to worry you like that."

"Don't ever do it again!" After one last prod in the gut, Rue stalks off in a huff. Without being bidden, Cedric hurries after her.

The rest of us watch them leave. Then we look at Thresh, a tense silence in the air, until I quip, "Well, it looks like you learned your lesson, huh?"

Thresh nods solemnly. Marvel is the first to crack, guffawing so hard that tears stream down his face. The rest of us are goners as well after that. I lean against the nearest stable object—Cato—and wrap my arms around my waist, laughing to the point my stomach hurts.

Even Cato can't keep a straight face as he attempts to follow up Rue's brilliant demonstration. "Don't be so—don't—" Cato covers his face with his hand, shoulders shaking. "Oh, to hell with it. What Rue said. Don't fucking do it again, Thresh."

I lace my fingers with Cato's as the pack resumes trundling on our path, giggles periodically rippling through the column. I missed this simple skin-to-skin contact while we weren't talking. Cato's thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on my hand, just like before.

He leans in and mutters in my ear, "So on a scale of one to ten, how jealous were you when Thresh came back from playing vigilante rebel?"

I turn up my nose. "Me? Jealous? _Tch._ I have no idea what you're talking about. Thresh is welcome to be reckless on his own."

"I see. A solid seven, then."

I look at him sourly, but Cato wipes away that expression when he swoops in for a kiss.

* * *

"They're so cute together!" Rue sighs.

"They're so gross," Ced complains, as not too far ahead of them, his sister starts making out with Cato. To be fair, it only lasts for a few seconds before they resume walking normally again, but come _on,_ do they have to do that where everyone—specifically, Cedric—can see them in all their grossness?

Ember wraps her arm around Cato's waist, and Cedric finds himself dearly wishing he could go farther back in the pack, where he wouldn't have to watch them be touchy-feely. Sadly, he has to be near the front as long as he has the GPS, and he's afraid of approaching the couple to hand it off to them lest he catch their grossness from being too close to them. Admittedly, he would rather they be all cuddly and romantic and get along rather than not talk and be angsty, but still.

Wait! If he's ahead of the couple, he won't have to watch them and he'll still be at the front of the pack. Perfect. "C'mon, Rue, let's run ahead."

"Ahead of Ember and Cato? Is that safe?"

"We won't be that far ahead. They can still see us."

"You don't want to watch them being lovey-dovey, do you?" she teases.

"That—that has nothing to do with it," he denies. "They're, uh, they're walking too slow."

"Riiiight."

"Ugh. You can stay here and watch them if it makes you happy." Cedric power-walks ahead, deliberately not looking at Em and Cato as he passes them.

"Where are you off to?" his sister asks.

"GPS. Supposed to be in the front. Going to the front." He speeds up before Ember can interrogate him any further.

Giggling, Rue hurries after and joins him. "Really smooth answer back there."

"You—just shush." Cedric sulkily turns all of his attention to the GPS. Rue doesn't seem to mind, singing to herself as they walk.

A while later, she stops humming. "Cedric?"

"Huh?"

"Does the GPS say there's something ahead of us?"

"Um, no. Just forest and more forest, and some hills."

"Then what's that?"

He turns to see what Rue is looking at. "What's w—whoa." They've just rounded a bend, and lying only a quarter mile away is a cluster of dilapidated buildings.

Ember and Cato catch up to the two of them, still agape. "What are you looking at?" Em asks.

Cedric points. "I think it's an abandoned town." Everything is deathly still, with no signs of life. They would have to get closer to be certain it's abandoned, but…

"Let's keep away from it," Cato suggests. "There's no point nosing around where we don't need to."

"Yeah. We all know what happened last time we decided to explore a strange building in the wilderness," Ember mutters, as she tightens her grip on Cato's hand.

Rue shudders as well, and Ced reaches out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. "It's not along our route, either," he adds. "We can easily stay far away."

It's about time to stop for a break anyway, so the pack pauses to pass around snacks, as the ghost town lingers in their periphery. Cedric, Rue, and the rest of their bunch of the youngest kids squeeze to sit together on a fallen log as they munch away on their dried fruit. Except for Thierry, who's playing around with his and Cedric's radio, most of them are staring at the empty buildings in the distance, coming up with stories about what the town was and why it was abandoned.

"Maybe it's an actual ghost town and there are ghosts!" Jean whispers loudly.

"Ghosts don't exist," Cedric immediately retorts.

"Okay, well, prove they _don't_ exist."

"You're a dummy. Science doesn't work that way."

"Does too!"

"Maybe the town's from before the Dark Days," Rue suggests. "Maybe they evacuated during the war, or the Capitol made them leave."

Cedric points at Rue. "See? That's a much more reasonable explanation than ghosts."

"Ooooh!" Jean stomps her foot. "Just you wait. The ghosts are gonna come over at night while we're sleeping, and then you'll all be sorry."

"Will you all be quiet?" Thierry suddenly snaps irritably, looking up from the radio. "I'm trying to listen."

Ced plants himself next to Thierry. "Listen to what?"

The boy from Three fiddles with the device. "It's mostly static right now, but once in a while I think I hear words. I might have passed a music channel a short time ago, and I swear I heard some Peacekeepers radioing each other once."

"But shouldn't they have secure channels?" Cedric queries.

"Yes, but…" Thierry jiggles a button, frowning. "This radio _looks_ like a real piece of junk, but it's really not. I just remembered that I've seen designs for this model in textbooks. It's designed to break through encryptions and protections on supposedly secure channels. But it worked a little too well, so the Capitol discontinued the model, and they were supposed to have destroyed them all. I guess this one escaped."

"Can I try finding a channel?" Cedric takes the radio and begins to incrementally adjust the dial, pressing his ear against the speaker. Like Thierry said, a lot of it's static, but they are in the middle of nowhere, so it's not surprising there isn't much in the way of communication in these parts.

Then he hears something that sounds like garbled speech. Excited, Cedric tweaks the little antenna he and Thierry made, and the voice becomes clearer. Two voices, actually. And the quality isn't great, but Ced thinks they might both have Capitol accents.

"_—detected rebel activity in Eleven. Sabotaged the irrigation system._"

"_That wasn't our doing. We gave no orders and sent no people to Eleven._" Huh! That second Capitol guy definitely doesn't sound like a loyalist. Which means the first guy probably isn't either, if they're trading information. Capitolite rebels? Are they a thing?

"_Did they act independently?_"

"_Most likely. There's no other explanation._"

"_I wonder how they got far enough to the lake to plant explosives._"

"_Me too. Security is tighter than ever these days. Perhaps some rebels were already outside of district walls._"

"_If so, they'd better find cover fast. We're sending hovercrafts out to assess the damage and try to catch the culprits._"

Cedric and Thierry stare at each other in horror. "We're the culprits," Thierry hisses in alarm.

"Technically it was Thresh, but I get what you mean." The first man on the radio is saying that the Capitol hovercrafts should be at Eleven soon, if not already. Cedric shoots to his feet. "_EMBER!_"

Once he and Thierry tells the others what they've found out, the pack bursts into panic. Clove leaps onto a large rock, places her fingers at the corners of her mouth, and gives an ear-splitting whistle. "Get a hold of yourselves!" she bellows once everyone falls silent.

Ember and Cato have put their heads together, whispering furiously. They nod in assent and face the pack. "We can't stay out here. This part of the woods doesn't provide enough cover from hovercrafts," Ember announces. "We're going into that town and hiding indoors until the hovercrafts pass."

Jean looks like she's about to say something—about ghosts—and Cedric quickly elbows her to keep her quiet. She glowers at him but doesn't speak.

"Clove, Finch." Cato faces the two girls. "You're the fastest. Run ahead to the town, make sure it looks safe, and find an easily accessible building we can use for cover straight away." Clove and Finch nod, and then they're gone. The stretch of land between the pack and the town is uncomfortably exposed, but Ced can see the two older girls doing their best to stay somewhat protected beneath the scraggly trees and overhangs.

Cedric turns and spots Ember talking quietly with Vidal. "—sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. I know my leg slows me down a lot."

"Thanks, Vidal." Ember looks at the pack again. "Vidal is going to get a head start with the youngest kids—Ced, Rue, Ardi, Marilou, Jean. Glimmer and Thresh, go with them to make sure they'll be okay. Everyone else, grab a pack and fill it with food, water, supplies, things we absolutely need for a day or two."

"Lothar, Franzi, get the camouflage tarp so we can throw it over the sled when they're done," Cato barks.

Cedric's group is hustled away, and they're hurrying as fast as they can, with the younger kids' shorter legs and with Vidal's crippled one. Cedric constantly casts nervous looks up at the sky, straining his ears for the telltale hum of approaching hovercrafts. He feels Rue grab his hand, and he doesn't complain or shake her off, but grips her fingers in response. About halfway across, his lungs begin to complain. Finch told him that they're still worn out from his near-drowning experience, and it's just a matter of time until they get back to normal. Cedric tries to hold himself together, but when they finally burst into town, he's staggering and gasping for breath.

Clove and Finch are waving at them from the open doors of a steepled building. Cedric has only ever seen photographs of them in books, but he recognizes it as a church. Wow, this town must be _really_ old. The Capitol outlawed religion a long, long time ago. Their group stumbles into the church, panting from their run. Ced wrinkles his nose as dust tickles it. Inches of it layer the floor and benches in the room, disturbed only by the little footprints of rodents.

Everyone crowds against the door to watch as the next few groups come sprinting for the town. Ced keeps his eyes peeled for Ember, but neither she nor Cato appears. When Marvel finally arrives, but not them, Cedric _really_ starts to worry. "Where's my sister?"

"She and Cato are on their way. They were throwing the tarp over the sled," Marvel answers, breathing heavily.

In the distance, Cedric can see two rapidly approaching figures, just as he starts to hear the hum of a hovercraft. Without realizing what he's doing, he jumps up and down in anxiety. "Hurry up, hurry _up!_" Ember and Cato, hand in hand, are sprinting faster than he's ever seen either of them move, which is saying a lot.

The hovercraft hum grows louder, and Cedric thinks he can see the edge of it coming into view. He bites down on his lip, so hard that he breaks the skin and tastes blood. Ember and Cato put in one last burst of speed, and they all quickly move to the side as the two of them barrel through the open doors and crash to the floor, gasping for breath. Clove and Finch shut the doors.

Ced starts to move toward his sister to make sure she's okay, but everyone freezes as they hear the now almost-deafening sound of the encroaching hovercraft. Rue squeaks in alarm, and Cedric quietly hushes her, taking her hand. Some of the pack are inching toward the windows, hoping to get a glance outside without exposing themselves.

He feels sweat dripping down his back as the hovercraft soars right over them. His mind races: did they leave footprints outside? Did they noticeably disturb something in the town as they were running through it? Did Ember and Cato cover up the sled well enough? Will the inhabitants of the hovercraft decide to land and check out the town on foot?

The hovercraft passes. Like many of the others, Cedric cranes his neck to get a glimpse out the window and watch as it continues to fly away. He waits, with bated breath, for the craft to suddenly turn around and come back for them

It never does.

But Cedric glances out another window and he realizes that the hovercraft wasn't alone. More are circling above the woods they just abandoned, searching for any signs of the culprits of the explosion. "I think we're going to be here for a while," he mumbles to Rue.

* * *

**Please forgive the BS I made up about radios. I'm sure it's not how they work in our world, but you know what, anything goes in a futuristic dystopia. :)**

* * *

**So it just occurred to me that we hit THREE milestones with the previous chapter. One, we reached 200K words. Two, we reached 300 reviews. And three, we reached my personal goal of at-least-10-reviews-per-chapter. Huzzah!**

**I really shouldn't do this, since I'm already behind on writing chapters for Sweetest Mockery and I have the How I Met Your Career scenes to worry about, as well as some original writing I've been trying to work on, BUT these milestones shouldn't go uncelebrated, methinks. So we're going to have another ONESHOT CONTEST. **

**Same rules as usual. Submit a review in order to be entered into a random drawing, and I will pick a random winner shortly before I post the next chapter. One review = one submission, so you can submit more reviews for better chances. I also count reviews submitted Chapter 23-onward (after the last oneshot contest) at a fraction of a submission, so older reviews will help boost the odds of regular reviewers. :) The winner will get to give me a prompt for a oneshot that I will write in the Sweetest Mockery universe; the prompt can be about nearly anything, with just a few rules. You can look at my other Hunger Games stories-A Game Played Beautifully By Children, So Says the Fox, Fire Beneath the Ashes, and Unwritten Hearts-for examples of previous oneshot contest results.**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and may the odds be ever in your favor! As usual, if you submit a review within a week of this chapter's publication, I'll send you a short preview of the next chapter.**


	32. Chapter 32

**Thank you so much to Ro-Lee, MissVolturiKingsfan, vampluver19, Mely-the-Mockingjay, iiMuffinsaur, theotherpianist, ForeverTeamEdward13, martatheinvisiblegal, Randommmfanatic, firehottie, and lovewords for your wonderful reviews.**

**Jafcbutterfly: Thanks so much!**

**Guest 1: I think Thresh's actions were more him discovering his inner rebel and acting accordingly. XD Hope you had a good holiday and new year!**

**Guest 2: Thank you! Flawed characters are always so much more fun to write.**

**Info about the oneshot contest results at the bottom!**

* * *

Thirty-Two:

Cedric gags in disgust as he drops the yellowed book. Its spine cracks as it lands on the ground, and its eaten pages scatter cross the floor as bugs skitter away. "Ew, ew, ew!"

"I'm sure the Bible wouldn't have been that interesting anyway," Rue tries to comfort him.

"I guess not." Cedric kicks aside the pieces of the book, taking care to avoid the carcasses of any dead insects, and dusts off his hands. There are several more copies of the Bible sitting around the church, but he suspects they'll all meet the same fate as the first. These books have been around for at least the better part of a century, unprotected from bugs and other critters. Definitely not in mint condition.

He and Rue continue to snoop around the little office that they found, tucked in the back corner of the church. The bookshelf contains many interesting titles, including one _The Fall of the United States,_ but Cedric refuses to unleash any more dead bugs. Yuck.

The filing cabinets are locked, but Rue proves surprisingly adept at lock-picking—"You never asked!" A lot of it is boring administrative stuff, like contracts and accounts, from what Cedric can make out from the yellowed, faded paper. Some of the other files have more tantalizing labels, like a big fat folder simply named "CAPITOL." Alas, when Cedric tries to tug one sheet out, the corner easily tears between his fingers, so he reluctantly leaves it be. Best not to go around destroying potentially important documents.

They poke around in the desk. One drawer is filled with snacks. "I dare you to try one," Rue whispers, poking at a box of crackers.

"No thanks, I've already contracted food poisoning on this trip. I don't need whatever eating hundred-year-old chips is going to give me."

The rest of the contents are pretty dull. Office supplies. More boring documents. Beaded necklaces with crosses hanging off of them. There's a particularly pretty one with shiny glass beads that Ced offers to Rue, who accepts it, looking pleased.

Then they actually look at what's on _top_ of the desk, and things become more intriguing. It's a mess, as if the owner of the study was frantically dumping things on it and didn't have time to put everything back. When they clear away some of the clutter, several packets emblazoned with "EVACUATION NOTICE" at the top meet their stares.

"I knew it wasn't ghosts!" Cedric says triumphantly.

"And _I_ was right about why they left this place," Rue answers loftily.

He sticks out his tongue. She sticks out hers. That done, they begin trying to decipher what the faded text says. "Well, apparently this place was called Township B3-15," Ced comments.

"Boring," Rue complains. "Can we call it Ghost Town?"

"_No,_ because ghosts don't exist."

"I know that! It's an ironic name."

"Hmph. I'll have to think about it."

"Excuse you, who made _you_ the boss?"

Ced makes another face at her before returning his attention to the packets. "So it looks like the Capitol claimed to be making them leave this place because the war had made it too dangerous to stay here. So this place was abandoned at the end of the Dark Days. There are orders for the people to head to the nearest District Center."

Rue looks thoughtfully at the documents. "It sounds like the Capitol was trying to round up all the people in the Districts and cluster them in the same place."

"Yeah, sounds about right. Keep them all where you can keep an eye on them." Cedric keeps scanning the paper. Ooh, a prohibited items list. "They were ordered to leave behind all books except those on a shortlist, any religious paraphernalia…"

"My great-grandma told me once how when she was little, her family used to go to church," Rue says quietly. "But the Capitol very quickly quashed all signs of religion after the war. She said that religion had already been diminishing on its own, but the Capitol hastened its end. They didn't want anyone believing in a cause or power greater than the Capitol."

"So did everyone just...stop? With religion?"

"In practice, yeah. The Capitol cracked down really hard on anyone caught praying or talking about their beliefs. But she said that some people still held onto their beliefs in secret. They just couldn't talk about it. She was young enough when it all happened that she was never particularly religious, but her parents were. It was hard for them to adapt."

Cedric lowers the packets. "If we beat the Capitol in the war, do you think religion will come back?"

"Maybe. I'm sure there are some people who've kept it up over the years in secret. Maybe in District 13 too. My great-grandma didn't tell me too much about religion, because she didn't want to put anyone in danger, but she made it sound very nice." Rue turns a page in one of the packets. "Have you ever talked about religion?"

"Not too much. Mom and Dad have some books that mention it, but my parents don't know that much personally. My grandparents all died before I was born so no chance of asking them anything." Cedric finishes looking through a packet and sets it down on the desk. It lands next to a calendar. He glances at it, noting a date circled in red, with "Evacuation Day" scrawled by a heavy hand. It corresponds with the date stated in the evacuation notices. "What day is it?" Cedric wonders to himself. He's lost track a little.

"You said it was Thursday when we met Javi, right?"

"Yeah, that's right." Cedric counts back the days in his head. "So today's date is August—crud!" He shoots to his feet and begins to pace frantically.

"What's wrong?"

"What are we going to dooooooooo?"

"Ced—"

"This is a disaster!"

"Cedric—"

"I completely forgot, how could I forget—"

"_Cedric Abernathy!_" Rue stomps her foot, and Cedric finally shuts up, staring at her with wide eyes. "Calm down and tell me what's so important about the date."

His shoulders slump. "Well…"

* * *

Cato is restless. They all are. No one can leave the church while hovercrafts are flying back and forth, so it's just a matter of biding their time. How long that time is...who knows? They'll be able to move around more freely at night, when it's too dark for the hovercraft pilots to see much, but they won't be able to leave the area until the hovercrafts are gone. Yet another delay.

Some of the pack have taken to wandering around the church. Cedric and Rue are poking around in a back office, which seemed harmless enough when Ember vetted it first. But the building is pretty small, so most people are pacing, napping, daydreaming, or joining Clove's game of poker.

Ember has dozed off, curled against Cato's chest. He absent-mindedly runs his fingers through her hair as his brain concocts, contemplates, and rejects various plans for how they can avoid the hovercrafts' notice.

"_Psst!_"

He frowns and looks around. Cedric's head is sticking out the office door. 'What?' Cato mouths back at him. The younger boy gestures for him to come over. Cato points at a napping Ember. There's no way he's risking waking her up by moving her, not when she sleeps so irregularly at night. Cedric huffs but scurries over. "What?" Cato asks again in a whisper.

Cedric crouches down and whispers in his ear, "Tomorrow is Ember's birthday."

Oh.

_Oh._

Shit.

"You sure?"

"I double-checked the date."

Cato glances down at the sleeping girl. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. You're her boyfriend, you think of something."

"Very helpful," Cato says dryly. The cogs in his mind whir, but this time for a far pleasanter purpose than avoiding hovercrafts. How can they celebrate Ember's birthday? He knows she wouldn't want to make a big deal about it, since they have more important things to worry about, like survival. But they should still acknowledge the day somehow. There aren't exactly any stores in the wilderness, so shopping for presents is out. Food-wise? As impressive as Vidal's wilderness culinary skills may be, Cato doubts even he could pull off anything like a cake out here. But Cato mentally reviews their food stores, particularly the sweets, and wonders if they can do anything with them.

Cato looks back at Cedric. "Can you get Rue out here?" When the girl from Eleven arrives, Cato asks her, "Do you have any idea if there might be strawberries growing out here?"

Rue deems the climate in the area to be ideal for wild strawberries, and after peering out of some of the windows, she identifies a few places they could try looking. They'll have to go out after dark when it's harder for the hovercrafts to see—but it'll also be harder for them to see. Thankfully, they have night-vision glasses, so that'll help a bit.

Ember begins to stir, and Cato silently shoos Cedric and Rue away before she can see them and suspect anything. Does Ember even know that it's her birthday? He watches as she sleepily stretches, eyes fluttering open and nose wrinkling, before she decidedly squeezes her eyes shut again and curls up closer against him. Cato shakes as he tries to suppress a laugh. "Good nap?" he asks softly.

"Still napping."

"Hmm." He allows his skepticism to color his voice as his finger traces a circle on the ticklish part on the back of her knee.

Her entire leg twitches violently away as her eyes snap open. She sits up and scowls at him.

Cato smirks. "Awake now?"

She sticks out her tongue. "You're lucky you're cute."

He grins and tugs her, mostly unresisting, closer until she's lying against him again. "How are you feeling?"

"Hm? Slept well," she answers absentmindedly, eyes sweeping the church to account for everyone in the pack. "Naps are great. We should take more of them."

"Sure, let's pencil in naptime in between hiking through the woods and avoiding Peacekeepers," Cato says dryly.

"Tch. You're no fun. Do you know where Cedric and Rue are?"

"They've been poking around in the office in the back this whole time."

"Huh. That interesting?" She yawns. "I thought I heard their voices a few minutes ago."

"Must've been dreaming."

"Hm." Ember glances out the window. "Hovercrafts still lurking about?"

"Still flying back and forth."

"They haven't seem inclined to land around here and investigate on foot, have they?"

"Not that I've noticed. It's a lot of ground for them to cover on foot. It makes more sense for them to keep searching from the air."

Ember inhales tensely. "But what happens when they continue not to find any perpetrators? I doubt they're just going to give up. Eventually they'll start looking on the ground, and an abandoned town seems like a good place to start. We'll be sitting ducks, all twenty-four of us huddled in here."

Cato frowns. "Do you think we have a better chance if we make a break for it at night?"

"I don't know. Like we discussed earlier, we won't make it very far in the dark, and the hovercrafts will just see us in the daytime. The forest cover here isn't good enough."

"Do you have any other ideas?"

Ember's eyes are distant as she gazes at the poker circle. "Not any good ones."

"Well, let's hear the bad ones anyway."

"It's...really not good. I wish I hadn't even thought of it in the first place."

"Come on, it can't be that bad."

She sighs quietly. "The Capitol is looking for whoever's behind the explosion. It stands to reason that if they find one person, ostensibly working alone, they'll stop searching for anyone else. We'll be able to make a break for it then." She seems to shrink into herself. "But that means someone would get left behind."

* * *

"But who would blow up the irrigation system if not Thirteen?" Johanna wonders. "Your average citizen in Eleven doesn't own anything more explosive than a popcorn kernel."

"It's not like Thirteen has a monopoly on rebel activity. There could be independent pockets throughout the country that we don't know about." Ashton thumbs through Rain's electronic reader where she gets all her confidential information from higher up. He didn't ask if he could borrow it, but what's her is his. They're twins, after all. And why does she get access to confidential info but he doesn't? Not fair.

"Blowing up the key to Panem's breadbasket is a pretty big heist. Sounds like something that would require a good deal of planning," Johanna opines.

"Eh. I dunno, if I had enough grenades on me, I'd do it spur of the moment."

"Not everyone's as crazy as you, Princess."

"You're one to talk, Bananas."

Ashton's bedroom door opens without warning and Rain shuffles inside. "Ash, have you seen my tablet?"

"Nope," he answers as he continues scrolling through it.

Rain frowns and plants her hands on her hips. "I can hear you lying."

"Oh, you have super-hearing now?"

"No, but you still have that same inflection in your voice when you lie at twenty-two as you did at twelve. And I will have you know that I don't need super-hearing to be woken from my nap because you guys are having sex like rabbits in heat in the middle of the goddamn day. Hi, Johanna."

"Yo."

Whoops. Ashton forgot that Rain was home when Johanna, feeling a bit raunchy, dragged him into the otherwise empty Abernathy complex. Huh. This has never been a problem for him before. He's lived alone for the past decade, and before that, when he lived at home, he had yet to be interested in sexual congress. "Sorry," Ash says blithely, suddenly feeling very conscious of his nudity and adjusting the sheets around his waist. "You know, you probably should have knocked before coming in here if you knew what we were up to."

"It sounded like you guys were done. And it's not like I can see anything important. Or anything at all," Rain snarks.

"You guys make me glad I'm an only child," Johanna interjects as she gets out of bed, uncaring that everything's on display as she hunts down her clothes.

"If you want to avoid an awkward encounter with our parents, I suggest you make your escape in the next twenty minutes," Rain advises before turning her attention back to Ash. "So, Rashton, my tablet?"

"Yeah, yeah, I have it here."

"Please read aloud the latest updates."

"Can I put some clothes on first?"

Johanna objects, as she pulls on her socks, "The view's pretty nice right now."

Rain wrinkles her nose. "I did not need to hear that."

Ashton begins dressing. "Well, we got an update from a Mr. Seneca Crane today."

As she does every time she hears her fiance's name, Rain visibly lights up, and then in the next instant, her whole body tenses in anxiety as she undoubtedly imagines all the danger he's in right now. "What did he say?" she asks quietly.

He does his best to keep his tone nonchalant and calm. "He sounded all right, according to Plutarch." Rain's shoulders relax. "He gave us a head's up that some hooligan, or hooligans, bombed the irrigation pipes feeding District 11's farms yesterday evening. The Capitol was to send hovercrafts shortly to investigate. It doesn't seem to have been Thirteen's doing, but the higher-ups did pass on the message to their agents in Eleven to be extra careful while the Capitol's on alert."

Rain's forehead creases. "District 11? Where exactly was this explosion?"

Ashton consults the tablet. "Zone B3, by the giant-ass lake."

"Ash!" Her hand rakes through her hair. "That's right around where the tributes might be right now, if they've been traveling according to my calculations."

"You think a bunch of 'dead' kids sabotaged the irrigation system?" Johanna queries. "Assuming they're alive and it was them, how would they even have been able to do that?"

Rain suddenly looks abashed. "I may have placed some grenades among their supplies."

Johanna cackles in laughter while Ashton stares at his twin. "Okay," he says. "Okay. Cool. Did you give them guns while you were at it?"

The ensuing silence makes Johanna laugh harder.

Ashton sits down on the bed. "Well, I can't even complain or lecture you, because, let's be honest, that sounds like something I would do."

"Do the Babies Abernathy even know how to use grenades and guns?" Johanna asks incredulously.

"They would've figured it out," Rain says loftily. "Anyway, we're off topic! If, like I suspect, Ember and Cedric's group is responsible for the explosion, then they're the ones the Capitol is searching for. I'm certain we would have had some inkling by now if the Capitol had found them, so it stands to reason that they're still undiscovered. But that won't last for long if hovercrafts and Peacekeepers continue to scour the area."

Damn. She's right. The Capitol is going to do its damned best to find out who messed with their breadbasket, and if they're concentrating on the exact region where Emmy and Ceddy are, there's no way they can sneak away. "Distraction," Ashton declares. "We need Thirteen to divert the Capitol's attention. Whether it's the tributes or some other saboteurs, rebels still ought to assist other rebels, don't you think? Distract the Capitol long enough to give them a chance to get away."

Johanna nudges him. "And how is this distraction going to happen? I thought we were keeping this theory about the tributes' survival on the down-low. You can't exactly burst into Coin's command center and demand that Thirteen send some fighters out without giving them a good reason."

Ashton strokes his chin. "_I_ can't, but we know someone who can."

Several moments later, Mom is staring at him incredulously. "No, Ashton, I cannot just burst into the command center and demand that we send out fighters to Eleven for no reason."

The _reason_ is on the tip of Ash's tongue. _Emmy and Ceddy are alive,_ he wants to say, _I'm 99% sure of it._ But that 1% of doubt makes him hesitate, and it'll be easier for Mom to lie to and deflect Coin if she doesn't know the truth. After all, Mom can't let anything slip if she doesn't know about it.

"Give them a reason," he pleads. "Surely you and Dad can come up with something that even makes sense in reality! Eleven's gotta be in chaos right now because there's no more water for their agriculture, right? Peacekeepers and Capitol overseers are probably floundering, and the people of Eleven don't have any backbreaking labor to undergo. It's the perfect time to send in people from Thirteen and really, _really_ set rebel activity on fire in District 11."

He internally dances when he sees Mom's unimpressed expression turning thoughtful. He crosses his fingers behind his back as she turns his suggestion over. Finally, she concedes, "As much as I hate to abet one of your harebrained schemes—" Rain's harebrained scheme, thanks "—that's bound to result in nothing but trouble, you make a solid argument."

"So are you going to do it?" he asks hopefully.

"Are you going to tell me what you kids are up to?"

Ash looks down at his feet, feeling all of twelve-years-old again.

Mom sighs and cups his chin, gently forcing him to look at her. "Isn't there anything you can tell me, honey?"

Now he really feels twelve again, small and thin and trying not to panic during the days before he's thrown into the Hunger Games arena, while Mom does his best to comfort him and coax him into talking to her. And just like back then, he wants to confide in her, by God he wants to. But he can't. It's his burden to bear, not hers, and things will be so much better for her if she stays in the dark for just a bit longer.

When he speaks, his voice is not that of a scared little boy but a man who knows what must be done. "Mom, I swear to God that everything I'm doing is for the sake of our family. For you. For Dad. I know it's unfair and frustrating that I'm asking you for so much while giving you so little in return, but I _need_ you, Mom."

His mother has aged well, but now she looks like every single one of her forty years as she gazes sadly at him. "Oh, Ash. How am I supposed to say no to that?" She reaches up to press a kiss to his forehead. "I suppose I should consider it a blessing that you at least came to me and not your father."

"Of course. Don't tell him I said this, but you're much smarter than him."

Mom covers her grin. "Oh, I know. And so does he." She squeezes his hand. "I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best at today's meeting." Then she looks at him warningly. "Whatever it is you kids are getting up to, be careful."

"Yes, Mom."

When they part ways, it takes Ashton a few moments to shed the heaviness of their conversation. Once he does, though, he's sprinting away, bursting to update the others. Several hours later, he, Rain, Johanna, Madge, Peeta, Katniss, and Gale are waiting on edge in Finnick and Annie's love-nest. Those of them flying into Twelve have their packs filled with their personal belongings; Rain's hovercraft pilot will have other supplies and gear waiting on board. Ashton has Rain's tablet on his lap, drumming his fingers impatiently as they await a message from Mom or Dad that it's time. If Mom is successful in convincing the other head honchos that they should scramble fighters to Eleven, the chaos of deployment will provide an excellent cover for them to sneak out of the bunker, unnoticed. Their hovercraft will just be reckoned as one of many crafts headed out to District 11.

Finnick and Annie, still in their honeymoon phase, are quite tenderly saying their goodbyes while the rest of them try to ignore the newlyweds. Ashton stares at Rain's tablet, willing a message to appear.

"Ash."

He turns his body toward his twin. "Yeah?"

"Make sure you stay in touch, please."

"Of course."

"And make sure you guys watch out for Katniss and Gale. Their moms will kill me if anything happens to them."

Ashton manages a wry chuckle. "I'm sure you could talk your way out of it."

Rain shakes her head. "Well, there's no way I'll be able to talk out of getting in trouble with Mom if something happens to _you._ So don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Do I do stupid things?"

"Yes."

"Ouch. That hurts." Ashton leans back in his chair. "We'll be fine. We have, what, two weeks until Emmy and Ceddy are supposed to reach the area? That's plenty of time for us to settle in and get our bearings. We could even do some recon in town if—"

"No," Rain interrupts fiercely. "No, Ashton. That was not what we agreed on. Stay away from town. Do not blow your cover, okay? It's not worth it just for intel."

"Okay, okay, it was just a suggestion. We'll be good." He exhales. "I'll admit, I do hate how we're going in practically blind. Do we really have no idea what's happening in Twelve?"

"Only that the Capitol has control. They shoot at our crafts whenever our people try to get close."

"I see. Yeah, we'll definitely play it safe, I promise."

Rain's knuckles are white as she clenches her fist. "I just don't want something happening to you guys when we're so close to getting Ember and Cedric back."

"Me neither." Ashton reaches over and clasps her hand. "We're going to be counting on you on this end. Don't let us down, okay?"

A message pops up on the screen. Ashton stares at it. _Fighters departing within the hour,_ Mom wrote.

"It's time, guys," he announces quietly. The remaining farewells are quick, and then he, Finnick, Johanna, Katniss, and Gale are rushing to the hangar, packs slung over their shoulders. They blend in with the crowd of other soldiers, wearing the same black uniforms. Rain's pilot and his craft are waiting right where she said they would be. The hovercraft is just as innocuous and camouflaged as the ones around it. Its pilot? Not so much.

Ashton blinks at the pilot's shining silver hair and matching eyes. If he missed anything from the Capitol—debatable—it's definitely not its fashion. "Caligula Sunsworth?" he asks to make sure, although he doesn't see anyone else in the hangar who's nearly flashy enough to be a Capitolite.

"Hey. We're in a bit of a rush, so everyone aboard." The Capitolite gestures for them all to enter the craft. "Nice to finally meet you, by the way. Call me Cal."

Ashton shakes hands before following everyone else on board. Cal shuts the door behind them and straps himself into the pilot's seat. Ash sits in the closest seat to him. "How do you know Rain?"

"We were friends in school."

"And they dated," Johanna chimes in from behind.

Ashton twists to look at her. "How do you know that and I don't?"

"'Cause I asked her, moron."

"Hmph." He faces forward again. "Well, I'm afraid I've never heard of you, Cal."

"Probably for the best. Fame isn't very good for my line of business."

If that doesn't sound illegal, then Ashton doesn't know what is. Head Gamemakers and criminals? His twin dates some interesting characters. He's going to need to have a talk with her about that when they get back.

"Everyone buckled up? Alright, let's hit the road." Cal cracks his knuckles and takes hold of the controls. Within moments, they're taking off. The hovercraft soon exits the hangar, and Ashton has to shield his eyes as he sees sunlight for the first time in weeks. The rays seeping in through the windshield are warm on his face, and despite the situation, he grins.

Damn, that feels good.

* * *

Although Seneca is as busy now as Minister of Aediles as he ever was as Head Gamemaker—which is to say, extremely busy—Snow still manages to worm his way into his crammed schedule with impromptu invitations for drinks. And of course, Seneca has to accept every time.

They're currently in Snow's study, watching a replay of the rebels' propos of Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta's wedding. Rain's parents, brother, and even baby sister are heavily featured, so Seneca knows she must be in attendance as well. But the camera never shows her for even a second. Logically, Seneca is certain that Rain is most likely all right, but it would have taken a huge burden off his shoulders if he could've seen for himself. Just a glimpse.

"I must admit, they have a sound marketing strategy," Snow concedes. "Show how much hope there still is, show how there are alliances across Districts, show how resilient the remaining Abernathys are. Just imagine how much easier your job would be if Heavensbee hadn't turned traitor and were around to give you a hand."

"Yes, Plutarch was always remarkably talented at manipulating the public." Seneca deems it safe to declare this since such a fact was universally agreed upon, before everything.

"And look how well they've managed to clean up young Ashton. He practically seems like a different person, doesn't he? 'If we can fix this addict, we can do anything.' What a lovely message to send out." Snow taps his armrest. "I wonder how much of his change is genuine and how much of it is the cameras."

"I imagine Thirteen would have forced sobriety onto him, from what we've gathered about codes and regulations in their district."

"Oh yes, and it must be easy for young Ashton to avoid relapsing if there are no temptations available. Such is the benefit of austerity, I suppose." Snow strokes his beard. "But where on earth is Miss Lorraine, I wonder?"

Seneca does not allow himself to visibly react. He can see Snow watching him for a crack in his facade. "Her blindness would have weakened the image of a strong Abernathy family. It probably benefited the propos to keep her out of sight."

"Quite. I imagine they're still feeling the disappointment of rescuing a blind Gamemaker. Considerably less valuable than one who can see." Snow sips his wine as Seneca tries not to clench his jaw. "But I'm certain they'll be taking advantage of her pregnancy. There will be cameras surrounding her newborn for sure. Nothing like infants to win over yet more bleeding hearts. Remind me when she's due?"

"November fifth," Seneca manages to answer in a calm voice.

"Really?" Snow sounds amused. "What a coincidence. Isn't there some nursery rhyme about that date?"

Seneca nods slowly. "'Remember, remember, the fifth of November.'"

"'The Districts' treason and plot, I know of no reason why the Districts' treason should ever be forgot.'" Snow swirls his wine glass. "And then the rest of the rhyme goes on to celebrate about how the traitors were discovered and punished, and lawfulness saved the day. Does it not?"

"It does," Seneca says quietly.

"The rebels will not win this war, Seneca. We will discover and punish all the traitors and ringleaders, and we will ensure no uprising will ever happen again." The president firmly sets down his glass. "How is progress with the trouble in District 11?"

"Last I heard, they're still searching for the perpetrators. My department launched our own propos earlier today to ease distress over the impending food rations. And—"

The president's phone sounds. Snow checks it and raises his eyebrows. "Interesting." He picks up the remote and changes the channel on the television so that they're watching official updates instead. "District 13 has decided to strike while we're down. Hovercrafts have arrived in Eleven and are waging battle with our own troops."

"It will take time to send backup."

"Unfortunately, that is true. We already have extra hovercrafts out there searching for the arsonists. It would make sense to divert them to the firefight instead. And the timing makes me suspect that Thirteen may have planned the bombing, after all, so the arsonists are probably on their way to rejoin the main forces." Snow steeples his fingers together. "But at the same time, I hate the thought of them getting away. Their actions have caused me such a headache. What to do, what to do, Seneca?"

* * *

**I am neither disclosing my own religions views in this chapter nor trying to promote any particular religious belief. Just an innocent discussion between two kids who've never encountered religion before about what it might be like.**

**The nursery rhyme that Seneca and Snow talk about is adapted from the English Folk Verse about Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot.**

* * *

**ONESHOT CONTEST RESULTS! I have a surprise! Because we hit three milestones and that was the reason for the oneshot contest, I figured it was only fair to pick three winners, ergo three oneshots. And the winners are Ro-Lee, vampluver19, and lovewords. I'll be letting everyone know once I get those oneshots going. Thanks to EVERYBODY for reading and reviewing! Hopefully we can do another oneshot drawing sometime soon, because I eventually would like to write _something _for all of my faithful readers. :)**

**As always, if you review within a week of this update, I'll send you a short preview of the next chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	33. Chapter 33

**Thanks so much to firehottie, MissVolturiKingsfan, Mely-the-Mockingjay, Swimming Trees, martatheinvisiblegal, ForeverTeamEdward13, Randommmfanatic, Sparky She-Demon (who reviewed EVERY chapter!), I'mImmortal, and Ro-Lee for their wonderful reviews!**

**Patting-Patches: Ember's birthday is this chapter, so definitely some Camber goodies here!**

**jafcbutterfly: They're going to reach Twelve soon, and after that, Thirteen isn't very far away.**

**Guest: Ember's birthday, right ahead! And I just want to give Seneca a hug right now or something, poor boy.**

* * *

Thirty-Three:

Cedric feels a naughty rush of exhilaration as he, Cato, and Rue quietly slip away from the rest of the pack after bedtime. If he dared do this on his own, he'd be afraid of Ember or someone else catching him. But Cato's with them, so they won't be in trouble; they just have to make sure Ember doesn't find out what they're doing or the surprise will be ruined.

As they exit the church, Marvel, whom Cato informed about their plans so that someone would know where they were should anything happen, nods at them, amused. He shoots Cato a smug look and mouths something that Cedric doesn't entirely understand, but Cato does, and the older boy glowers at Marvel before the door shuts behind them.

"What was that about?" Cedric asks.

"Nothing. Just Marvel being an idiot as usual." Cato passes out night-vision glasses to them. "No lights, remember."

Cedric puts on the glasses. "Whoa." Who needs lights? Besides an unnatural green tint over everything, he can see everything like it's daytime.

Rue is slowly turning in circles, until she stops and points. "Let's try looking over there first for strawberries."

They unsuccessfully try three locations before Rue squeaks in excitement and drops to her knees beside a patch of red berries. Cedric squats next to her. "You sure these ones won't give anyone food poisoning?"

"We'll wash them properly."

Cato kneels beside them. "I'll help pick. Cedric, you keep an eye out for any sign of trouble."

"Um." Cedric stands back up. "Are we expecting trouble?"

"No, but better to play it safe."

Well, now Ced is grateful that he thought to grab his bow and quiver on their way out. But even with night-vision glasses, he isn't sure how he feels about trying to hit something in the dark. He hefts his bow in his hands, suddenly feeling a lot more anxious about their little field trip. "Are you guys done yet?"

"Almost," Rue chirps from the ground.

He suppresses a sigh of relief when they finally finish, and they hasten back to the church. The strawberries are stashed inside a cooking pot and then covered by a few clean rags, just to be safe, although no one besides Vidal usually messes around with the cooking equipment. At last Ced burrows into his sleeping bag, satisfied with their night's endeavors.

Before he shuts his eyes, though, he spies the radio resting beside a sleeping Thierry. He stares at it, thinking about how the rusty device saved their butts earlier today. During the long hours they spent waiting futilely for the hovercrafts to pass, he and Thierry tried to catch a signal again, but the best they ever got was static-muffled garble.

Ced's fingers twitch.

After several moments of debating with himself, he gives up on sleep and sits up. Quietly he gathers the radio and their small toolkit and then relocates himself farther away from his sleeping friends.

The clearing of a throat catches his attention. Cedric looks up to meet Cato's stare; the older boy is on watch. Ced instinctively shuffles his feet nervously, but then he realizes he has nothing to be embarrassed or chagrined about. He's not doing anything wrong, just awake a little later than usual. So he tiptoes his way over to the door, where Cato is sitting against the wall, and plops to the floor beside him.

"What are you up to?" Cato asks.

"Didn't feel like sleeping." Cedric judges that they're far enough away from everyone who's sleeping that he can turn on the radio at a soft volume and begin to tweak the dial. "Just wondering if maybe we'll be able to hear something."

"Like what?"

"I dunno. Some kind of communication about the hovercrafts, maybe. It'd be nice to know when they're leaving." Ugh. Static. "I wish there were some way we could get them to go away ourselves."

"Yeah, you did a pretty good job with the last one, huh?"

"Huh?" Cedric looks up at him. "The last one?"

"In the arena."

"Ooooh, right." That hovercraft that tried to massacre them all shortly after the arena short-circuited. Explosive arrow. Boom. "But we probably can't do that again here, can we? Too many hovercrafts, so if we get one, the others will come down hard on us." He huffs. "So what's the plan? What're we gonna do? Just keep waiting?"

Cato is silent.

Cedric turns to completely face him. "We do have a plan. Right? You and Ember always think of something."

"Yeah. Of course."

"...You're lying, aren't you?" Cedric puts down the radio. "I can tell."

"Oh, can you now?"

"Duh. If you were telling the truth, you'd be like," Cedric pulls a grumpy expression, "'_Obviously,_ do you even have to ask?' But instead you're all quiet and un-snippy."

Cato groans and rests his cheek on his fist. "You know, kid, you're a little too damn perceptive for your own good sometimes."

"People tell me that a lot."

"Why am I not surprised?" Cato lifts his head again. "Let's just say we're brainstorming right now."

"So...you've got nothing."

Cato shoves his shoulder, not too roughly. "We're working on it."

Cedric sighs and draws up his knees closer to his chest. "I guess Thresh really shouldn't have done that with the grenades, huh?"

"It would've made life a lot easier for us if he'd restrained himself. And to think I thought it was Ember I had to be worried about."

"I'm surprised you didn't try kicking his butt over this," Cedric remarks, scooping up the radio again.

"I thought about it. Not worth it. It wouldn't change anything."

"Oh. Well, okay then." Are those musical notes he hears? Cedric holds the radio up to his ear. "Maybe you just need to think out a plan one step at a time. Like, what are we going to do tomorrow? Are we gonna keep hanging around here or are we going to try moving out, or what?"

"As long as the hovercrafts are flying back and forth, we're stuck here. But the longer they linger, the likelier the Peacekeepers will start looking around on foot. They're bound to check out this place sooner or later."

"So we need the hovercrafts to go away. Okay. How do we do that?"

"You tell me, kid."

Although he knows it won't do anything, Cedric gives the radio a little shake. "Maybe a few of us can snoop around this town a bit. Carefully, so no one sees us. Maybe there'll be something around here that can help us."

Cato rakes his fingers through his hair. "Maybe. Better than waiting around doing nothing, I suppose." He reaches over and plucks the radio out of Cedric's hands. "Give that a break and go to bed. You're cranky when you don't get enough sleep."

* * *

One thing that Ashton has learned since the Odairs' wedding, and he and Johanna decided to add "benefits" to their friendship, is that she likes to hog the bed in her sleep. No bed? No matter, she'll just sprawl across the entire sleeping space, despite the sleeping bag that should be restricting her movement. So Ashton wakes up after their first night in the wilds of Twelve with his sleeping bag having been shoved against the side of the tent and half of her limbs sprawled on top of him, quiet snores in his ear.

"Johanna Mason, Sleep Colonizer," he mumbles to himself as he extricates himself from his sleeping bag and her arms.

The other three are already awake, Finnick because he had the last watch of the night, Katniss and Gale because they're early risers. When Ashton emerges from the camouflaged tent, the two kids suddenly find the contents of their travel mugs very interesting. Finnick doesn't even bother hiding his smirk. "Well, good morning, Abernathy."

"Not before my coffee, Odair," Ashton grumbles as he marches over to the kettle over their campfire.

"What? I was just going to say that you looked like you were sleeping quite well."

Ashton harrumphs as he fixes himself some caffeine.

"But, ah, I hope you're not planning on sleeping _too_ well any time soon. Don't forget we have these two young'uns here, so you and Mason better not get up to any hanky-panky while—"

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." Ashton picks up a wrapped loaf of bread from their breakfast supplies and begins to beat Finnick with it while Katniss and Gale crack up. "You're one to talk. Aren't you a newlywed?"

"Ah, stop it, you bully!" Finnick grabs the bread out of Ashton's hands and throws it aside. "And my missus isn't here, so it's different."

"What the hell is going on out here? Some of us were trying to sleep." A disgruntled Johanna with bad bedhead stomps out of the tent. "There had better be coffee left, or I'm gonna kill someone."

Once everyone is sufficiently caffeinated and fed, they get to work. Ashton takes out the Holo, one of Thirteen's latest devices, that Rain managed to nab for him. A few presses of the touchscreen later, and a holographic map of District 12 and its surrounding lands appears in midair.

"Oh, sweet!" Gale hunches over the map, inspecting it every which way. "Look, Katniss, there's even the abandoned cabin by the lake."

Katniss stretches out her hand, her fingers passing through the map unobstructed. "I wonder if we can find our houses in the Seam?"

"Probably can't distinguish the buildings in the Seam, but look at the Victor's Village."

"Settle down, children. You can play later." Ashton taps the Holo, and a red circle appears on the map. "This is where we are. Within a day of the town's borders, but far enough away that we shouldn't have to worry much about Peacekeepers venturing out and running into us. Plus, we're pretty hidden, and we've got a great vantage point to see anyone coming. So if we don't bother anyone, no one should be bothering us."

Johanna frowns. "Are we really just going to sit here and wait for the next few weeks until the tributes get here? Surely there must be something we can do. The people in Twelve are probably suffering under the Peacekeepers right now, aren't they?"

"No, there's nothing else we can do," Ashton snaps. "Five of us versus an army of Peacekeepers who have instant radio access to the Capitol. This isn't the time for us to be playing heroes." He takes a deep breath. "And I promised not to do anything stupid."

Finnick rubs his chin. "We don't have to play heroes in order to do something not-stupid, right? Aren't there ways to get in and out of the district unnoticed?"

"There used to be," Katniss answers. "Gale and I would slip through the fence to go hunting. It was an electric fence that was usually turned off. I'm guessing it's probably turned on 24/7 nowadays."

"Alright then." Finnick clasps his hands together. "That should be the first thing we do, then. Do some surveillance, see if the fence is electrified and other intel. We've been in the dark about what exactly is happening in Twelve, haven't we? Well, we're in the best position now to rectify that."

"Sounds dangerous," Ashton remarks.

"Only if we do something stupid. Which we won't, because you promised not to, right, Abernathy?"

Ashton manages half a smirk. "Right, Odair."

* * *

Peeta has managed to make a beautiful cake, and Madge's mouth waters just looking at it. She watches as he finishes icing it and topping it with sliced strawberries. "That looks heavenly, Peeta."

"Thanks. You want the leftover icing? We won't get to eat the cake until later today."

"Do you even have to ask?" Madge sticks her finger in the bowl and licks off the sugary substance. "Do you suppose the cake is big enough for everyone?"

"Should be. My family isn't going to have any, so it'll just be us, Ember's family, Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, the Hawthornes, and—" Peeta pauses. "Actually, Rory and Vick could probably eat the entire cake between themselves. Now I'm worried."

Madge sighs and rests her head on her arms, gazing at the cake. "A birthday cake for Ember and she won't even be here to enjoy it."

"I'll make another one when she and Cedric get here. It can be a belated birthday cake _and_ a congrats-on-making-it-here-alive cake."

She scoops up another dollop of icing, wishing that Peeta had extra strawberries as well. "Could be worse, I guess. At least we're not celebrating her birthday while believing she's dead."

Peeta is quiet as he puts the cake away in the fridge. "Madge… Am I the only one who's afraid that we might be jumping the gun? We're all so eager to believe that they aren't dead. But we don't know that for sure. What if we're setting ourselves up for disappointment?"

The icing no longer tastes as sweet. "No. I'm afraid too." She leans against the counter. "But I think I'd rather be overly hopeful for the next few weeks than continuing to mourn nonstop. If we're wrong, at least we got a small reprieve from our grief."

"I suppose that's a good way of looking at it." Peeta nods as he begins to clean up. Madge helps him, bringing the used bowls and knives over to the sink. "Do you suppose they're all right over there in Twelve?"

"It's been less than a day. Even they can't possibly have gotten into trouble so fast."

Peeta gives her a look, as if saying, _Oh really?_

"Okay, fine. But you know Katniss, she won't be wanting to jump head-first into danger. She'll keep them in line."

"Youngest of the five but the most responsible and even-headed," Peeta mumbles as he scrubs a bowl. "They're doomed."

They've just finished drying up when a loud and heavy knock bangs on the door. They exchange a surprised, somewhat nervous look before Peeta goes to answer it. On the other side are stern-faced men in uniforms. "Peeta Mellark." One looks past him at Madge. "And Madeline Undersee. Come with us."

"Where? Why?" Peeta asks warily.

"Come with us," the man repeats.

Madge senses that they're about to be a lot more forceful if she and Peeta don't cooperate. "Alright, we're coming," she says quietly, suspecting the reason they're being taken in. Her suspicions are confirmed when, along the way, an escorted Annie joins their merry party. When they arrive, Rain is already seated within the room, looking excessively calm.

The four of them are seated side by side and then left to wait, two guards left inside the room with them. Madge is dying to talk to the others but is afraid that the guards might shush them, or report their conversation to whoever's ordered them here.

She's stunned when the door finally opens again, and in walks President Coin. Are they really so important as to merit the president herself? Then Madge remembers that Rain is among them, and for all that "the blind Gamemaker" is derided, her cousin is certainly important.

"Thank you all for your cooperation." Coin sits across the table for them. "I'll cut to the chase. You four are under investigation."

Madge decides to keep quiet unless addressed directly. Meanwhile, Rain straightens her back and serenely asks, as if they're chatting about the weather, "Whatever for?"

Coin sets down a file on the table in front of her. "It was reported yesterday that Soldiers Abernathy, Odair, Mason, Hawthorne, and Everdeen were seen approaching the hangar during the deployment of troops to District 11. The five were not cleared for deployment, so we looked into the situation. We discovered that they boarded the hovercraft of Captain Sunsworth, who arrived late at his assigned post in District 11, bearing fewer supplies on his craft than were originally allotted to him. He was uncooperative with our inquiries, but after examining the geolocation devices on his ship, we discovered he made a stop near District 12 first. It has also come to our attention that Soldiers Abernathy, Odair, Mason, Hawthorne, and Everdeen have not been seen since boarding Soldier Sunsworth's hovercraft." She folds her arms. "These are the facts. Would one of you care to explain them?"

Rain is a few shades paler than usual but is otherwise not visibly alarmed. "I would think the five of them would be better able to answer that question, since they're the object of all your surveillance."

"They are off the grid now, as you well know," Coin retorts. "You four, however, are not only the closest to them, but also conspirators alongside them."

"Conspirators?" Peeta repeats. "That implies we're plotting some kind of conspiracy, and I assure you, we most certainly are not."

"Then explain what you were planning, or we will be forced to assume the worst. So far we have you down for unauthorized departure, misuse of military aircraft, and illegal acquisition of official supplies. Do not make this worse on yourselves."

"Do you think we're committing treason?" Rain asks icily.

"I don't know. Are you, Miss Abernathy?"

"To echo Peeta's words, we most certainly are not." Rain also crosses her arms, and although she can't see Coin, Madge still gets the feeling that they're staring each other down. "Do you even have any evidence that we're involved with the others' activities?"

"We have plenty of surveillance footage of you all spending inordinate amounts of time in each others' company."

"Oh yes, spending time with our family and friends. How unusual. And it's not like we were all working together to plan Finnick and Annie's wedding recently."

"Miss Abernathy, I do not appreciate your cheek," Coin says crisply. "If the four of you continue to refuse to cooperate, I will be forced to confine you all—"

The door swings open, and Aunt Maysilee enters. "President Coin, I sincerely hope that you aren't bullying these children."

"Counselor Abernathy." Coin's expression abruptly grows more sour. "This is a private interview."

"Interview? I suppose that sounds much more palatable than 'interrogation.'" Aunt Maysilee stands behind Madge and Rain, facing the president.

"May I ask how you were informed of this confidential meeting, Counselor Abernathy?"

"So you can cut off my sources?" Aunt Maysilee asks rhetorically. "If you insist on knowing, President Coin, my daughter Summer was in the other room when your guards came to escort Rain away, and she told me what happened to her sister when I returned. Really, President Coin, can you call something 'confidential' if it takes no effort for a six-year-old to know about it?"

Coin exhales sharply. "Regardless, you aren't supposed to be here, Counselor Abernathy. This does not concern you."

"On the contrary, it does." Aunt Maysilee places her hands on her hips. "I presume that you've summoned these four here because of some so-called 'plot' you've uncovered among them, my son, and their friends involving District 12."

Coin purses her lips. "Indeed."

"I'm afraid you have the wrong culprits, President Coin. If you insist on 'confining' anyone in this room, it should be me."

Madge isn't the only one who gapes at Aunt Maysilee. "Mom," Rain starts to whisper.

"Not now, Lorraine." Aunt Maysilee is still staring at Coin.

For a split second, the president looks dumbfounded. Her shock is soon masked, but Madge—and surely Aunt Maysilee—has already seen it. "Interesting. If this is the case, you've done an excellent job of avoiding being caught by surveillance, Counselor Abernathy."

"I thank you for the compliment."

"Is this a confession, then, Counselor Abernathy?"

Aunt Maysilee lifts her chin. "I confess that these four and their five compatriots are guilty of no wrongdoing except obeying my orders. Considering how obedience to superiors' directives is a core value in District 13, I expect that you will take no issue with such behavior."

Madge is a little afraid to see Coin's expression, so she looks at the others' instead. Peeta's eyes are almost bugging out as he gawps at Aunt Maysilee. Rain's mouth is slightly open. Annie is blinking furiously.

Coin's voice is tight as she speaks. "What were you thinking when you _ordered_ them to commit these acts? You are well aware that their actions were against protocol."

"I was thinking that Thirteen was too quick to write off the tributes of this year's Hunger Games as deceased without a single effort at verification. Evidence demonstrates that there's a significant chance at least some of them are still alive, so I organized my son and his friends to take up a post where they might be able to receive any tributes approaching District 13. Thirteen has proven extremely reluctant to invest resources in endeavors without secure odds of success, so I opted to hasten the process and act independently."

What? She—how on Earth did Aunt Maysilee figure out what they were planning? As far as Madge knows, despite Aunt Maysilee's best efforts to find out information, everyone has kept quiet.

Coin's knuckles are white. She's about to say something before she looks down at Madge and the others. "You four wait outside. I require a private interview with Counselor Abernathy." Madge finds herself being hustled out of the interrogation room, and then she, Peeta, Rain, and Annie are deposited in the hallway. More guards are outside to make sure they don't try to run until Coin clears them.

There are two chairs in the hall. Rain and Annie take them while Madge and Peeta choose to sit on the floor beside them. Madge can tell she isn't the only one bursting with questions, but as before, they don't dare to discuss anything potentially incriminating while guards are watching them.

Annie, who was silent in the interrogation room, is first to speak. "How much longer until the birth, Rain?"

"About three months." Rain pats her very rounded belly. "According to my checkups, she's developing normally, thank goodness."

"That's good to hear," Annie says sincerely. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Go ahead."

Madge rarely has the nerve to ask her cousin if she can touch her belly, so she's next in line after Annie. A sheepish Peeta follows suit, and Rain happily gives them all permission.

"I know it's still super early, but I hope Finnick and I can have our own baby soon," Annie says wistfully.

Madge and Peeta exchange a look. The Finnick Odair that they know is quite a clown, who seems happy to spend his days alternately mocking Ashton and knocking him down on his rear during sparring. Not quite father material at first glance, but Madge will be first to admit that she doesn't know Finnick _that_ well, for all that they've been "conspiring" together.

And truth be told, Madge still hasn't completely wrapped her head around the idea of Rain being a mother. The cousin in her memories is a gawky twelve-year-old girl who stood in corners during parties and rattled off details about abstract theories that completely went over six-year-old Madge's head. But ten years can change people a lot.

More baby talk fills the moments, laced with unease, until the interrogation room door opens again. Aunt Maysilee and President Coin step out. The latter turns to the guards. "They are all free to go."

Maysilee Donner Abernathy, miracle worker. "Follow me," her aunt instructs, and the four of the quickly rise and follow, with Rain taking Peeta's arm for guidance. They walk in silence all the way to the Abernathys' apartment.

Inside, Uncle Haymitch and Summer are waiting. Summer waves at them, while Uncle Haymitch's expression is inscrutable. "Summer, go play in your room, sweetheart," he tells Madge's baby cousin, who scampers off.

Aunt Maysilee sits beside her husband. "Everyone, be seated." They all obey wordlessly. "Now, somebody tell me what the _hell_ you all were thinking."

After a few seconds of silence, Rain haltingly relates everything that they've hypothesized, discussed, and planned ever since they concluded Ember and Cedric might be alive. Madge stares at her shoes, not brave enough to look up. Aunt Maysilee looks almost exactly like her own mother, and the look of disappointment and anger cuts Madge deeply.

Rain finishes speaking, and they all fall silent again. Uncle Haymitch sighs. "Well, I hope you all are aware of how stupid you've been."

"We had to do something!" Rain bursts out. "If they're alive—and I really, really believe they are—we couldn't just sit around waiting for them!"

"We agree!" Aunt Maysilee snaps. "And I'm sure you all knew that Haymitch and I would've agreed with you, so I'm baffled why you kept us in the dark. You all are so damn lucky that I didn't just take your word for it and let you be. You're damn lucky that we did our own digging to try to puzzle out what you were up to, and you're damn lucky that we discovered enough for me to adequately bullshit in front of Coin today. If I hadn't fooled her into believing I was responsible for all this, you would all be arrested right now."

Rain's hands tremble on her lap. "Mom, we didn't tell you and Dad because we didn't want you guys to have to take responsibility. We knew Coin was gunning for you, so we didn't want to give her any ammunition."

"Ah. I see. You thought you lot would get a lighter punishment somehow if—no, _when_ you were caught." Aunt Maysilee shakes her head. "You guys were wrong. Coin would have loved to be able to have grounds on which to arrest you all. It would have given her immeasurable leverage. No, it would have been better from the beginning if you'd let us know, because your father and I have much better bargaining chips with her than you do. Because she can certainly arrest you all, easily, but she'd have a much harder time arresting one of us. Haymitch and I are far too high-profile for her to arrest us without significant public backlash, and the backlash would be even greater if word got out that we acted because we were hoping against hope to find and bring home our two children. Coin would've had you all tried and locked up within a day if she'd managed to pin ultimate responsibility on you."

Rain takes a shaky breath. "You… You're right. We didn't think about all that. We were wrong. I'm sorry."

"Sorry, Aunt Maysilee," Madge murmurs, and Peeta and Annie echo their sentiments.

Aunt Maysilee rubs her temples. "I know you are," she mutters. "And I can't bring myself to continue scolding you guys much more because I understand perfectly why you acted the way you did."

"I do have half a mind to scold you for your carelessness, though," Uncle Haymitch interjects. "We got a great deal of our intel from Summer, you know. You guys tended to forget about her when you met up in this apartment. She's six, but she can still hear things." He raises his voice. "Isn't that right, Summer?" A giggle and the sound of a closing door.

Aunt Maysilee sighs and stands up. "Rest assured, though, I'll have a similar speech for those five in District 12 right now—worse if they get hurt between now and then. But in the meantime, someone tell me where Cinna and Portia are hiding. I know those two knew something about this, too."

* * *

When I wake up this morning, I get a strange feeling of anticipation. I sit up, stretching, and take a look around. Cato's sleeping bag is gone, meaning he's already up: no surprise there. I glance over where Cedric usually sleeps among his friends and see that his sleeping bag is gone as well: that's a surprise. Cedric is usually a late riser, or at least as late as he can wake up nowadays.

I wander over to Vidal to get my portion of breakfast, but I end up empty-handed. "Cato has yours."

"Does he?" Picking up each other's food isn't something we really do. Maybe he's in a mood today. I dunno. Shrugging, I go to find him so I can eat.

Cato is lurking in the corner of the church where I napped yesterday. "Good morning. May I have my ration of dried pears?"

"Uh...no."

I squint at him. "Don't tell me you ate it," I say warningly. I can get quite grumpy without food and Cato knows it.

He says nothing, only holds out a covered bowl. Baffled, I take it and lift the lid.

Strawberries. Beautiful red strawberries, soaked in what looks like sweetened condensed milk.

"Where did you get these?" I ask in wonder.

"There was an accommodating bush."

My mind can't help shooting back to the last time one of us ate fresh strawberries. "Did someone wash these?"

"Yes. Shouldn't have to worry about food poisoning."

My mouth waters at the sight of the berries. When was the last time I ate strawberries? But I have to resist. "We should distribute th—"

"No," Cato says firmly. "They're for you."

Eh? "But—"

"They're for you," he repeats. Then, rubbing his neck and looking as awkward as I've ever seen him, he mutters, barely audibly, "Happy Birthday."

I blink. "It's my birthday?" What even is the date? It's definitely early August.

Huh. It's my birthday.

"Oh." I look at the strawberries again, and a tingling sensation rises inside me. "So...this is for me?"

"Like I said."

I peer at him curiously. "Why are you acting so embarrassed? This is wonderful." I stand up on my toes and kiss his cheek. "Thank you. I appreciate the gift."

Whatever awkwardness was gripping him seems to dissipate as he reels me in for a hug and a kiss on the top of my head. "It wasn't just me, I'll admit. Cedric remembered it was your birthday, and Rue found the strawberries."

"I'll be sure to thank them. Now help me eat these strawberries."

It is, I decide, a good birthday, all things considered. As good as it can be with the situation as it is, at least. And the strawberries are pretty damn delicious. The company's not bad, either.

I drop the last strawberry stem into the bowl with a content sigh. "That was a wonderful birthday present, Cato. Thank you."

He nods, clearing his throat. "There's...something else."

"Oh? Another present? Did you go shopping?" I tease.

"Yes and no. Turn around."

Bemused but also a little excited, I do as he bids. Cato brushes my hair over one shoulder and brings his hands over my head. I realize that he's draping a thin metal chain around my neck, and a glance down tells me that attached to the chain are dog tags. "These are yours?"

His fingers linger at the nape of my neck. "Yeah. My District token."

"I've never seen you wear them."

Cato snorts. "Of course you haven't. I've been keeping them in my pocket. Standard policy. If you wear something around your neck in the Games, you run the risk of someone using it to strangle you."

I arch an eyebrow. "And you just put it around my neck because…?"

He suddenly looks a mite awkward. "We're not exactly in the Games, are we? And, er, you don't have to keep wearing it. You could stash it in a pocket too, I guess."

A smile breaks across my face, and I cuddle closer to him. "Nah, a girl could do with some jewelry on her birthday. Thank you." I peck him on the cheek. "So where did you get these dog tags from?"

"In Two, they're issued to each Career when they're selected to volunteer, and we all keep these as our tokens in the Games. The tags remind us where we've come from, what we're fighting for."

I pick up the tag from where it's hanging on my collarbone and look at the imprinted text more closely. "CWolf?"

"Everyone at the Academy has a scoreboard name," Cato explains. "Each year has its own scoreboard, and students' ranks are rearranged accordingly at the end of each day. Scoreboard names are usually made by taking the initial of your first name and the first few letters of your last name."

Cato Wolfwood. CWolf. "What's Clove's scoreboard name?" I wonder.

"Clove."

I raise my eyebrows.

"I'm not kidding. Her full name is Cloelia Lovegreen. That shortens to CLove." He pronounces it like 'sea love.' "She's had the nickname Clove since she started at the Academy."

"So that means I would be...EAber?"

"Mm, more likely EAb. We try to stop at the first syllable of the last name."

I wrinkle my nose. "I think I'll stick with Ember." I move on to the next line on the tag. A date. "Your birthday?" He nods, and I file away the late November date. Next line: "A, horseshoe, LXXIV?"

"Not 'A, horseshoe.' Alpha Omega. That's my year—my class—at the Academy. Have you ever heard of the Greek alphabet?"

"Yeah. For a dead language, isn't it?"

"I think a few people at the Capitol might still know the language. Scholars, historians. But using the alphabet is definitely popular, and it's trickled down to District 2 at the very least." He points at the letters. "The alphabet has twenty-four letters. Alpha is the first, omega is the last. The first class to graduate from the Academy, for the Twenty-Seventh Hunger Games, was the Alpha Class. After the twenty-fourth class, the Omega Class, they added a second letter. So the twenty-fifth class was Alpha Alpha. I'm in the forty-eighth class, so it's Alpha Omega. Clove is three classes after me, so she's Beta Gamma." Cato uses his finger to draw the letters in a patch of dust. Beta looks like a B, and Gamma looks like an upside-down L. "LXXIV are Roman numerals. Seventy-four, for the Hunger Games we're participating in."

I'm curious what the rest of the alphabet looks like, but there's one more line on the dog tag to look at. "H F P."

"We get one line for an inscription of our choice, if we can fit it in the space. H F P. Honor, Fides, Probitas. It's Latin for Honor, Loyalty, Integrity."

Latin? I know of that one. Capitolites think it makes them sound all fancy. "Is that some kind of motto?"

"Yes. My…father said that a lot to us. Drilled it into our heads."

My thumb grazes across the three letters. Cato has told me enough about his father that I've come to develop my own opinions about him, despite never having met Attilus Wolfwood. They're not entirely positive opinions. But even I can find _something_ admirable, I suppose. "It's a good motto. It describes you very well." I twist to look him in the eye. "You're honorable. You're loyal. You have integrity. Honor, Fides, Probitas. Right?"

There is a softness in Cato's eyes as he gazes back. "Right."

Soon everyone else just about finishes eating. Cato discusses with the group an idea he and Cedric thought of last night. There are still hovercrafts flying randomly overhead every so often, but that doesn't mean we can't sneak out and hop from building to building to snoop around and see if there's anything useful in the town.

And we agree that it's a good idea to have other places to hide if the hovercrafts decide to land here.

Since stealth is key, only some of us are going out, and we're traveling in pairs. Unsurprisingly, I end up with Cato, and we set out eastward while the others branch out in different directions. We don't hear the telltale rumble of an approaching hovercraft, and we daringly venture to the outer limit of the town so we can work our way back in. As we walk, I think that even though this place was abandoned many decades ago, even though ivy and weeds have overgrown the gardens and facades of buildings, it's still quite peaceful and idyllic. The town's former residents had a lovely view of the lush forest, the river, and the mountains. In the distance I can see what looks to have been farms, with abandoned fields and groves.

As for the town proper, Cato and I seem to have gotten a primarily residential area. Keeping an ear out for the warning sound of a hovercraft, we slink from the shadow of one house to another. The houses here remind me of the ones back in District 12, in the Victors' Village. A particular house painted a faded eggshell blue causes a pang in my heart and makes me think of my own home in Twelve.

"Let's poke around this one," I tell Cato.

"What are we going to find in there? Any food's bound to have gone bad long ago, medicine's ancient, clothing's probably moth-eaten or rotted, and anything that's survived probably isn't worth taking with us."

"Just humor me. It's my birthday." I march up to the front door. Not too surprisingly, it's locked. But Cato, after a quick examination of the frame, easily rectifies that by kicking it open.

As soon as I step inside, I can tell that this was a well-loved house, despite the thick layers of dust covering everything inside it now. Dozens of empty picture frames—the house's residents probably took the photos to wherever they were going—lie haphazardly on the floor against the walls, below where they were once hung. Toys and stuffed animals are scattered on a rug, as if waiting for their owner to return. Children's sheet music is left on the piano stand; a quick press of the C key tells me that the instrument is _horribly_ out of tune.

The kitchen is cozy, with cabinets and tables and chairs carved from warm wood, and crayon drawings stuck to the door of the fridge. A pot of flowers, long dead, rests on the windowsill. Dishes are drying on the rack by the sink: two sets for adults, one for a child, and one for a baby. On the floor by the back door are a food dish and a water bowl.

I can almost see the family on their last day in this house, hastily finishing their meal and cleaning up, packing their most precious belongings, scooping up their pet dog or cat on their way out the door. Away from this life where they seemed to have been happy—truly happy, unheard of for anyone living in the Districts today—to another life wherever evacuees went. The parents may have thought they would raise their children in this house, grow old in this house. The baby would've never remembered living here. I am at once fascinated and disquieted by the different, foreign life this family lived in this house, compared to anything that we know now.

And then I realize this is it. This is what we're fighting for, what the rebellion is fighting for. We're fighting so that we can have this kind of life, where we're happy and unafraid to be happy, where we can dare to dream about living our lives in peace. We're fighting so that we can breathe freely, so that we can _live._

Cato doesn't say anything during the long moments when I'm silent and thoughtful. He does take my hand and hold it, waiting until I come back to Earth. "Want to poke around some more? There's an upstairs."

I shake my head. "Let's leave them _some_ privacy." No matter that the family is probably dead by now, from old age or...other causes. Their memories still haunt this place.

But on our way out, I can't resist halting beside a bookshelf that carries some very interesting titles. The church also has similarly intriguing books, but Cedric's warning of book-eating insects dissuaded me from looking more closely. Hopefully there aren't any critters living in these tomes, because I'm really curious what _Panem: The Beginning_ is about. And _Dark Days Ahead: Why Calamitous War is Imminent._ And _The House of Snow,_ which is not, in fact, about igloos, but the history of the family of President Snow.

"Can we…?" I wonder.

"Hell yes." Cato takes the books of interest off the shelf. A quick flip-through reveals that there are no bugs living within their pages.

Since we've decided to leave the upstairs bedrooms alone, there's nothing left in the house, so we exit. No hovercrafts, so we continue on our way. But before we make it very far, we see a flashing light coming from the direction of the church. The flashes are in the agreed upon sequence to let us know to return ASAP.

Cato and I run, and we arrive at the church around the same time as the others. Cedric and several others are gathered around the radio, which is making garbled sounds that are clearly voices. Cedric was so pleased with himself when they got the radio to catch onto a music channel earlier, but now he's looking anything but pleased.

"It's communication between the hovercrafts," he informs us, face colorless. "They've decided to give up the search for the bombers because rebels are fighting in Eleven and they need backup. But one hovercraft is going to do a sweep of this town before it joins the others."

* * *

**In case you were curious, the word that Marvel mouthed at Cato in the beginning was "whipped."**

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**So I feel like I say this on a lot of chapters, but again: I can't be certain that I'll be able to update in three weeks as usual. The next chapter is incomplete, and I would like to work on the oneshot prompts I was given—they're going to be fun! I'll do my best to keep working on this fic, but just in case, I'd like to warn my readers about the uncertainty of the next update. But whether it's the next chapter of this story or one of the oneshots, I promise that I'll be doing my best to publish **_**something**_** for you all soon!**

**Also planning on finally updating How I Met Your Career today, for those of you who subscribe to that.**

**Another note: I have a Tumblr account (presidenthades), where I mostly reblog stuff (a lot of Sherlock/Sherlolly lately~~~). But I spent a lot of time this weekend procrastinating on writing Sweetest Mockery by making a bunch of character photosets! They're nothing much, but if you want some visuals to go along with the text, I've tagged all the photosets with #the sweetest mockery.**

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**Thanks so much for reading! As always, if you review within a week of this posting, I'll send you a short preview of the next chapter.**


	34. Chapter 34

**Thank you very much to MissVolturiKingsfan, martatheinvisiblegal, firehottie, Sparky She-Demon, Randommmfanatic, Mely-the-Mockingjay, iiMuffinsaur, ForeverTeamEdward13, vampluver19, and Ro-Lee for reviewing!**

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Thirty-Four:

We watch as the hovercrafts pass overhead, speeding southward toward the alleged rebels. One breaks from the formation and looks about to land at the western end of town.

The other hovercrafts vanish from sight, and Cato raises his hand. "First group, go."

Glimmer opens the church's back door, and Una, Jaxon, and Skylar follow her out. They take off running toward the east and disappear behind a house. It's too obvious and risky if all twenty-four of us make a run for it to safety on the opposite side of town from the hovercraft, so we're sending smaller groups, one after the other.

I keep an eye out for any sign of the hovercraft while Cato silently counts down, until Glimmer's group ought to be halfway to the eastern border. When Cato's done counting, I still haven't seen Finch, who's supposed to let us know if the Peacekeepers are heading our way. I signal to Cato to proceed. "Second group, go."

We've just sent off the fourth group when Finch comes running. She darts through the church's back door. "They're coming along the main road."

Cato and I glance at each other. The fourth group should get to safety all right, if they stay out of sight of the main street. But it'll be harder for the rest of us, the remaining two groups. I look at Cedric and Rue, wishing we could have sent them in one of the earlier groups. But we had to balance out each group with good fighters and bad fighters, in case the warning system with Finch failed or they ran into trouble. If not Cedric and Rue, it would've been two of the other younger kids.

"No time to stagger the rest of us," Cato says grimly. "Let's go."

The remaining eight of us creep out of the church, shutting the door silently behind us. It's eerily silent, except for the sounds of our own muffled footsteps. Then the wind changes direction, and my ears pick up on garbled conversation among several men.

They're too close.

If we pick up the pace, we run the very real risk of making noise and attracting their attention. If we continue as we are, we run the other risk of them catching up to us.

Cato and I look at each other. _Hide,_ we mouth at the same time.

Right away I zero in on some trees nearby. There isn't enough coverage for all eight of us, but two or three could be shielded well in the branches, if they're quiet. I point, and Rue reacts immediately, scrambling up an oak as quick as a squirrel. Finch also hoists herself up, and Cato gives Cedric a boost so he can reach the lower branches.

Meanwhile, the others have gotten the message and run off in search of their own hiding places. I can only hope that they pick good ones, as Cato and I take off to find our own. Luckily we don't have to go far. We run into an overgrown garden, with untamed shrubs and weeds. No time for a better spot. Cato and I dive beneath some hedges, and we barely manage to settle in before we hear footsteps.

Suddenly I am alone in the woods, with handcuffs on my wrists, and a grizzly, wild-eyed man is cooing for me to come out and play. A tremor ripples from my head to my toes as I clamp my hands over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. _Stay quiet, stay quiet, don't let him find you, please God…_

A large hand gently takes mine, and a calloused thumb traces circles on my palm. I blink wetly and look into Cato's eyes, darkened with concern. I grip him tightly, desperately trying my best to remain in the present—although the present is itself kind of terrifying. But at least in the present I'm not alone.

Military-issue boots tromp closer. I curl closer to Cato, scarcely daring to breathe. I feel him tense as the boots come into view, much too close for comfort; we can see how polished they are. _Alasdar's shoes were filthy,_ I remind myself as I grip a knife in my free hand.

The boot's owner doesn't seem terribly interested in the hedges. The Peacekeeper is whistling—I vaguely recognize the song as a popular, cheesy love ballad in the Capitol—as he struts through the garden. My view is rather obstructed lying on the ground, but I can glimpse him half-heartedly rattling a locked door before shrugging and turning back around. The Peacekeeper turns on his radio. "Hey, this is Marcus. Nothing over on my end. Are you all going to be done soon? I could do with some lunch before we join the fracas down south."

Thank goodness for Capitol incompetence. But I don't dare relax yet, not until the Peacekeeper passes completely out of sight. Possibly not until the hovercraft takes off. Still, a trickle of hope bubbles deep inside as the Peacekeeper saunters farther and farther away.

Of course, that bubble pops when the Peacekeeper pauses beside the oak. He cocks his head and looks curiously at the tree, scratching his head. Then he steps forward, head tilted back as he tries to spot something among the branches. After a moment, the man removes his baton from his belt and reaches up to clear aside some leaves.

Before either Cato or I can react, an arrow whizzes out from the branches and skewers the Peacekeeper's throat.

Both Cato and I are frozen in shock for a moment, but we quickly react. Rolling out from underneath the shrubbery, we leap to our feet and run toward the oak. As Cato turns to make sure no other Peacekeepers have followed poor Marcus, I kneel beside the body to check for a pulse. Nope, dead. I look up. "Cedric?" I call softly.

Cato looks over, and he surges forward just in time to catch a falling Cedric. His bow clatters on the ground. Rue, who's holding the quiver, and Finch peer down in worry. In the distance, I spy movement as Thierry, Lothar, and Araceli also emerge from their hiding places.

I immediately take Ced into my arms, not liking the pallor of his face or the clamminess of his hands. "Ced? What's wrong?"

My brother stares unseeingly into space. Then he shudders and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, his eyes are less distant, but no less perturbed. "Nothing. Let's—let's go. Let's get going."

Finch has hopped down by now, and she and Cato are rapidly discussing our next step. "A dead Peacekeeper complicates things."

"At least he didn't have time to alert the others."

"Yeah, we have that much. But we only have until the others next radio to check on him before they realize something's wrong and come looking."

Cato's brow furrows. "Any way the others could be convinced to leave without him?"

"No, we can't count on the others being as dumb as this one," Finch answers. "If he doesn't show up at the hovercraft, they're going to search for him until they find his body. And it's going to be obvious that someone killed him when they see the arrow in his throat."

I stare at the body. "Is there some way we could make it look like an accident?"

Grimly, Finch reaches forward and tugs the arrow out of the Peacekeeper's throat. "Maybe a wild animal attack, if we rip up his throat a little more," she says doubtfully.

"Hide the body." Cedric speaks up suddenly, and we all turn to look at him. "Hide it where they won't be able to find it. They'll waste time looking for him. It'll be suspicious when he doesn't turn up, but they won't know what happened to him. Maybe rebels killed him, maybe he deserted. Their hovercraft is supposed to leave soon to join the fighting, so they can't spend too long here trying to figure it out. When they finally have the chance to puzzle it out more or report it, we'll be long gone."

I comb my fingers through his hair and look at the others. "That's as good a plan as any. And we can't waste any more time."

Cato nods. "Let's do it."

"There was a covered well near where I was hiding," Thierry pipes up. "That could be a good place to...dispose of the body."

Cato and Lothar pick up the Peacekeeper's body while the rest of us keep an eye and ear out for his comrades. "'Dispose of the body.' I feel like a criminal," Cato mutters to me as we near the well.

"We're in a war," I mumble, and he has nothing to say in response to that.

Finch, Araceli, and I have to tug hard to free the cover, which hasn't been touched for many decades. The well seems to have dried up, so when Cato and Lothar tip the body in, it lands at the bottom without making any splashing noises. We cover the well again, trying to get the lid on as tightly as possible, then continue on.

We've already spent so much time in hiding and then dealing with the Peacekeeper, and we have no idea where the others are. Fortunately, we'd already made good distance across the town before we had to hide from Marcus, so it isn't much farther until we're home free. The town disappears behind us, and soon we arrive at the designated meeting spot, where a visibly concerned Marvel is lurking.

"Took you guys long enough!" he hisses as he grabs Finch in a tight hug.

"Trouble," Cato says curtly. "We need to get distance between us and the town."

"Still need me to lead a group to double back and get the sled?" Marvel asks.

Cato hesitates. "It's dangerous. We had to take down a Peacekeeper. The others are probably looking for him now."

Marvel frowns. "Cato, we need that sled. It has everything. We didn't bring much with us to the town, and we already used up most of what we brought. We've still got about a week and a half to Thirteen, right? We're so close. Let's not starve to death just before we get there."

"No. Cato's right." Finch steps forward. "We bought ourselves just enough time to get away. It would take too long for a group of, what, six people to circle around the town, get the sled, and circle back with it. It's not worth the risk."

"We have almost no food, water, or medicine without that sled," Marvel warns.

Cato looks torn as he turns to me. "Ember?"

I bite my lip, trying to recall exactly what we had on the sled. "I think," I say slowly, "Finch is right. The risk is too great."

"But the supplies?" Marvel asks in frustration.

"You're right, Marvel. We don't have that much food and water left," I agree. "But we have most of our weapons, so we can hunt. We have our canteens and iodine, so we can still get water. I know Finch packed a medicine kit. Some of our packs have spare rope and wire. We have a week and a half left, right? There are tributes who last longer in the Hunger Games with much less than what we have." I clench and unclench my fists. "We can survive without the sled. It'll be hard, but we can do it."

After a long moment, Marvel finally nods. "I hope you're right, for all our sakes."

The entire pack regroups. Thresh seems perturbed and guilty when we announce that we won't be able to go back for the sled. I'm not the only one who sees him looking westward. Rue pokes his belly. "Don't you dare run off again, Thresh!" He swears not to.

We move faster without the sled. Shaving time off the remainder of our journey is best if our supplies have been limited again. I try not to think too wistfully of those packets of hot cocoa that will never be opened, or those bottles of fragrant shampoo. _Luxuries,_ I remind myself. _They're luxuries. You don't need them. Survival is what's important._

Evening falls, and we settle down for the night. As things begin to calm down, I suddenly remember Cedric's pale, clammy face earlier. Most of the others are bedding down as I seek out my brother. As usual, he's camped out near his friends, but tonight he's at the edge of the gaggle.

"Ced?"

He looks at me, gray eyes distant again.

I sit beside him. "Ced, will you tell me what's wrong now?"

"Nothing's wrong."

Clearly a lie. "It's okay, Ced. We're safe now. You can tell me."

His chin wobbles. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Cedric stares at his knees. "I killed the Peacekeeper." I nod slowly. "I… I know I shot down that hovercraft when we were in the arena. But that was different. I didn't—I didn't see anyone die. But I saw him die today, and I made it happen."

"Oh, Cedric." I wrap my arms around him.

"Am...Am I a bad person now?"

"Cedric, no. _No,_ no, no." I wipe away the wetness on his dirty cheeks. "Cedric, killing… Killing someone doesn't automatically make you a bad person. Mom and Dad had to kill people during their Games, and they're not bad, are they?"

"No," he mumbles thickly.

"I've had to kill, too. And I'd like to think I'm not a bad person, either."

"No," Ced repeats quietly.

"Reason and intention are important, Ced. You didn't kill that man because you wanted to, right? You killed him to save yourself, Rue, and Finch. That's important, Ced. You _saved_ them. You saved yourself. You saved all of us. Don't forget that."

Cedric curls in on himself, and his voice is shaky in between shuddering gasps. "I want—I want to forget. I—want to forget—all of it. I want to forget it—ever—ever, happened. I want—I want to go home, Em. Please, can't—can't, can't we go home?"

I hold him close and press my face against his unkempt hair, barely registering anymore how matted and oily it is. "I'm trying, Ced. We're so close. We're almost there. We'll see Mom and Dad and Summer soon, okay?"

"I just—want—things to go back—back to how they were—before."

My eyes begin to feel wet. "I want that too, Ced." I continue to hold him and rub his back, as he tries to contain his feelings in shaky gulps and unwilling hiccups. Eventually his breathing evens out as he drifts into an exhausted sleep. I tuck him in, but still I stay by his side, waiting for my eyes to dry up before I feel ready to go to bed.

* * *

Ever since the interrogation with Coin, most of Rain's intel privileges have been temporarily revoked. Rain knows that her parents and Plutarch are working to get them reinstated, but she also knows they have a lot of hoops to jump through before the higher-ups are ready to trust her again, if ever. Truth be told, Rain isn't even sure if she cares anymore about getting intel. Of course she wants to know if Ash is safe, if there's any news about Ember and Cedric, but working with Coin's people to plot against the Capitol? She's had enough of them sneering and looking down at her, the pitiful cripple. Fuck them. If they think she's so useless, then good riddance.

But now she has more time than she knows what to do with. At least before she could pretend to keep herself busy by having Ashton read reports aloud for her. But both the reports and her twin are gone.

So she spends much of her days listening to the radio and audiobooks. Cinna and Portia keep her company when they can, but they've been busy designing special uniforms for certain VIP's in Thirteen. Rain can't imagine there's that much they can do with plain black military uniforms, but maybe that's why she isn't the stylist here. Annie has ended up hanging out with her a lot, and the two of them have gotten along fairly well despite not having much in common. The Victor from Four likes gardening and swimming, while Rain has always been a fan of the indoors. But Annie will sometimes read non-audiobooks out loud for her, and Rain will sometimes accompany her to Thirteen's greenhouses.

Madge and Peeta, ever the good eggs in their friend group, have taken up the task of spending time with Rain without any prompting. They prove to be pleasant company, gladly recounting stories about District 12 during Rain's long absence—and Peeta always brings around the best pastries, whose consumption Rain justifies with the fact that her waistline has already been rapidly expanding with her pregnancy—but she knows they must have better things to do than entertain a blind woman.

A lot of the time, she'll try to feel useful by watching—"watch" being a figurative term—Summer. Rain's youngest sister is a well-behaved child, much better than Ember at the same age. Summer usually plays with her dolls and stuffed animals, or Rain will hear the scratching of crayons and pencils as she draws. She never tries to get away with anything because Rain can't see, and sometimes Summer will wander over and ask if she can touch Rain's expanded stomach. Sometimes Hazelle Hawthorne will bring little Posy over, and the apartment will be filled with girlish giggles.

There's none of that today. Cinna and Portia are working. Annie is doing laps at the pool at the training facility, where Madge and Peeta are also working out. Hazelle has taken Summer and Posy elsewhere today, to let the two girls stretch their legs outside of their families' apartments. So now it's just Rain, her radio, and Capitol tunes that were hits about twenty years ago. Even Thirteen, for all their utilitarianism, can appreciate good music. And since no one but the Capitol is really producing any, the two or three music channels around have no choice but to broadcast oldies-but-goodies from the enemy. There are also a handful of songs from before Panem that have, against all odds, survived. Now _those_ are hard to get your hands on, since they often mention themes and ideals that the Capitol would rather leave forgotten. So it's usually either the elites or those with access to the black market—or both—who are able to listen to them, and Seneca is one of the former.

Thirteen's radio DJ's, it turns out, must be a part of the latter, because Rain soon hears a familiar, warm singing voice and chiming of the piano. She slowly sits up on the couch, face turned toward the radio. Soon, instead of the scratchy old device that Thirteen deigned to give their family, it's the shiny new speakers that Seneca bought so they could listen to music as they worked. The darkness dissipates and Rain can see the living room of their penthouse, with window walls that offer a panoramic view of the city, sleek furniture that is nonetheless comfortable to snuggle upon (her insistence), and the empty glasses of sparkling cider (no wine for expectant mothers) on the glass table.

"_It always leads me here, lead me to your door."_

Seneca, with his traditional "gentleman's education," is an excellent dancer. Rain most certainly is not. That didn't stop him from trying to walk her through the steps of a simple waltz or foxtrot every few evenings. It didn't matter if the song playing was completely unsuitable for dancing; if he caught Rain tapping her foot or humming along, she would suddenly find herself standing and being spin around the living room.

"_Why leave me standing here? Let me know the way."_

This last happened not long before the Reaping in June. A stormcloud was hanging over Rain's head, and Seneca knew it. So the instant he noticed her mouthing the lyrics along with the song, he pulled her onto her feet and they began to circle around the room.

"Rain," he murmured in her ear as she leaned against him, "I'm here for you."

_Tell me what's wrong,_ was his unasked plea. Rain heard it—but she couldn't answer it. For his own good. "I know."

"_Many times I've been alone, and many times I've cried. Anyway you'll never know the many ways I've tried."_

A hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present, with the old radio and the pervasive, unending darkness. It takes Rain a moment to recognize her father's presence, and another moment to realize she's bawling uncontrollably.

Dad pats her tentatively on the shoulder. "There, there, Raindrop," he says awkwardly, and Rain can't help giggling through her tears.

"H-Haven't you ever seen a crying woman before?"

"Yes, but that doesn't make this any less uncomfortable." Then he chuckles, and Rain feels him using his sleeve to wipe her face. "Need to blow your nose?"

"On your arm? That's gross."

"You didn't think it was gross when you were six."

"Yeah, because I was _six,_" Rain mutters. But she blows her nose anyway.

"So," Dad says when she's done, "is this something you'd rather have your mother for? Or a doctor? Shit. There's nothing serious wrong, is there?"

"No, no, no." Rain shakes her head. "I'm fine. The baby's fine. I just...got emotional."

"Because of the radio? Want me to smash it?"

"_Dad._"

"I'm serious. The radio's crap. If we break it we can get an upgrade."

"No, Dad. It wasn't the radio. It was… It was just a song."

Silence. Rain wonders if he's feeling awkward again. She hasn't had a real heart-to-heart with her father since she was twelve or so, and she has no idea whether or not he simply passes on Ember, whenever she needed comfort, to Mom. Then he says, "I heard the tail end of that song just now. It's good. Sad, but good. If I had to guess, did it make you think about...him?"

Her hands fist the fabric covering her knees. "Yes."

Dad exhales audibly. "Seneca Crane is fine."

She tilts her head in his direction. "What?"

"He's been in some propos from the Capitol. You know, being the 'Minister of Aediles' and a pretty boy and all."

"Dad…"

"A few empty words here and there about how the Capitol will reign victorious, everyone needs to stay strong, be patriotic, et cetera, et cetera. Obviously scripted. But he looks fine. Tired, but he seems healthy. Does that...make you feel any better?"

A lump disappears from Rain's throat. "He's fine?"

"He's fine."

"Does he look…"

When she fails to finish her question, Dad prods her. "Look what?"

"It's silly."

"Ask it anyway. I'm sure I've heard worse."

"Does he look like he might...miss me?"

"Huh." Dad hums for a moment. "I wouldn't call that a silly question. More like a hard question. I...don't know. I really don't, Raindrop. I don't know Seneca Crane very well, and he has a great camera face, so that makes it even harder to tell what he's feeling. But for what it's worth—I think he looked sad."

_He misses her._ And then Rain immediately feels guilty for feeling even the smallest jot of relief about Seneca's sadness. Shouldn't she be hoping for his happiness?

"You look conflicted." Dad squeezes her hand. "It's okay to be relieved that he hasn't forgotten about you. As a matter of fact, if I thought he looked like he was moving on from you so quickly, I'd go straight to the Capitol and break his pretty face."

"_Dad!_" Rain covers her face with his hands. "You're embarrassing me."

"No one else is here."

"Still embarrassing me." She flops back on the sofa. "Were you this overbearing when Ember was dating Peeta's brother?"

"No." Dad suddenly sounds irritated. "Your sister's too clever for her own good. Kept him a secret—and your mother helped her." His voice holds an underlying note of betrayal, and Rain has to quash a giggle. "Their relationship was over before I even knew about it."

"They only went out for a few weeks, right?"

"Still too long."

Rain does her best to hide an evil little smile. "Do you suppose they might start back up again when Ember gets here?"

"Over my dead body," Dad answers without missing a beat. "Ember—and Summer, for that matter—aren't getting into any more relationships until they're at least thirty."

"What about me?" Rain teases.

"You...get a pass." Dad gently pats her rounded stomach. "It would be hard to explain to your kid why you never see her dad."

"You can call her your granddaughter, you know."

He harrumphs. "Bah. Makes me feel old."

"I'm not going to say anything about that."

"You little—" The baby kicks against Dad's hand, and when he lets out a surprised laugh of delight, Rain wishes she could see his face. After a brief demonstration of karate, her daughter settles down again. Dad retracts his hand. "Rain."

"Hm?"

"It's okay to miss him."

Her ring weighs heavily on her finger. "Thanks, Dad. I needed to hear that."

* * *

As soon as the director gives the all-clear, Seneca gratefully lets the feigned smile fall from his face. The remaining actors for the propo wander away to get refreshments, but Seneca is more than ready to leave for the day. Snow must be punishing him for something; the president knows that Seneca would hate the additional attention that starring in propos would heap upon him.

And the cheesy slogans. _Rational citizens use their rations._ Ugh.

A set assistant scurries over, and in a flash, his camera makeup is removed. Seneca allows himself to briefly rejoice in the feel of his own face again.

"Long day, huh?"

At the sound of the familiar voice, Seneca slips back into his mask. "Drusilla, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting you." Or the positively indecent dress that she must've been sewn into. Does her office not have a dress code? Then again, Seneca knows for exactly whom Drusilla is wearing that dress, and it's not for her colleagues.

"I thought you could do with some cheering up. I know how these television appearances exhaust you so."

Yes, and she was the one who always dragged him to them four years ago. But their tenuous game would end prematurely if he pointed out that fact now, so he lets it pass. "But we all have to do our part in these troubled times, don't we?"

The touch of scorn in his voice does not go unnoticed. Drusilla's blood red lips quirk up at the corners. "Well, let's get this patriot home already. I'm sure you're looking forward to a cozy night in."

The sultry tone of her voice can't be mistaken, nor her underlying suggestion that his cozy night will not be spent alone. This is not the first time that Drusilla has tried to invite one of them to the other's bed. In the past, Seneca has been able to come up with valid excuses—meetings that were already scheduled, early mornings, a few emergency phone calls—but his luck has run out. He has no legitimate excuse now, and he's sure that Drusilla knows it. Even if he lies through his teeth, Drusilla—who has, admittedly, known him for a very long time—will be able to see through it. So his only recourse, if he's to continue avoiding her seductions, is to turn her down. And that is problematic, because this round of will-they-won't-they is all part of the larger game that he's playing not with Drusilla, but Snow. Once Seneca makes a definitive decision about Drusilla's overtures, that will send a very loud message to the president. Snow knows that Seneca wouldn't take up with another woman while any loyalty or affection remained with Rain, so if Seneca submits, it's a clear sign that those lines have been severed. But if he rejects her, there is nothing Seneca can say or do to prevent Snow's drop or two of suspicion from swelling into a full-blown beast.

If Seneca wants to keep surviving in this game, there is no question about his choice. He has to go with Drusilla.

But _Rain._

It's a no-win situation. He can't afford to make either choice. Seneca gazes at an expectant Drusilla, weighs the sins that he will be able to live with, and makes a different choice.

His fingers bury in Drusilla's immaculately styled hair, sending jewel-tipped pins and clips flying as he pulls her in for a passion-infused kiss. Gasps and giggles ripple across the remaining people on the set, which Seneca does his best to ignore as he counts down in his head. Once he hits zero, he breaks away, catching his breath again. Drusilla's artificially violet eyes are dazed as she blinks dreamily at him. "I'd love nothing more than a cozy night at home," he tells her in a low voice, "but I need to put in a late night at work after spending the whole day doing propos."

"Yes… I understand." Then Drusilla regains her bearing and blinks coquettishly. "I'll take a rain check on that."

Seneca smiles faintly, emptily, at her before turning to leave the set, a bitter taste in his mouth.

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Stubhouse. You may leave." The green-haired, orange-skinned man practically bows—repeatedly—as he backs out of Snow's office. Snow returns his attentions to the video, where Seneca and Drusilla's heated kiss is looped again and again and again. He strokes his beard and nods to himself. Yes, this will definitely be sent to District 13 first thing in the morning. A little romance will nicely break up the monotony of propos on both sides. It is unfortunate that Lorraine will not be able to view it herself, but surely someone will be obliging and describe it to her.

Snow closes the video and picks up his wine glass, glancing down at the papers on his desk. Even after everything that's happened, Seneca, the sentimental young fool, still can't bring himself to completely destroy everything that would remind him of his life with Lorraine Abernathy. The Head Gamemaker's—no, the Minister of Aedile's drawings were hidden quite well in his apartment, but Snow's agents found them, of course.

The president understands why Seneca would keep the sketches out of sight, if not outright destroy them. It would be difficult to have to see Lorraine Abernathy's treacherous face every day. Snow could easily destroy them for him, but this is something Seneca must do himself, in order to make the break with his former fiancee permanent.

Still, Snow allows himself to admire the exquisite technical mastery with which Seneca captured Lorraine Abernathy's features. He can appreciate art for what it is. After taking one last sip from his glass, he purposely sets it down right over Lorraine Abernathy's eyes.

* * *

**The song that Rain hears is "The Long and Winding Road" by The Beatles, because of course The Beatles would survive the apocalypse.**

**Alright, we're going to play that game again where we see if I'm able to find the time to write the next chapter within the next three weeks! I definitely have ideas what I want in the next chapter, and BIG THINGS will be happening. :D**

**NEW STORY: I've uploaded the first installment of one of the "oneshot" fics (definitely a multishot now), Original Sin, and I'm planning on another update later today. It's a Haymitch/Maysilee-centered prequel to The Sweetest Mockery. Check it out, please!**

**As usual, I'll send you a preview of the next chapter if you review within a week of this update.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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